Two photographs: the left shows white ink geometric chevron and line tattoos across several fingers, and the right shows a white ink paw print with a heart on skin.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

White ink chevron lines on fingers

Geometric · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

The left photograph shows chevron-like lines, dots and straight bands in pale white ink across the fingers of a hand against a dark reddish background. The right photograph is greyscale and shows a small paw print with a heart shape in its pad, rendered in light ink on the skin. Both designs use fine, light linework and dotting with no colour ink.

Geometric Hand Chevron Line Dot Finger Paw print Heart White ink

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lime paste was already going grey in the jar when Dilys handed me the brush across the potting bench and told me not to waste it on the hedge. The hedge was hers to mark, not mine. Each hazel stool had its own pattern of white chevrons and dots painted on the bark so the hedgelayers knew which stems they had already laid and which were still waiting. Her father had done it that way, and his father before him, and nobody in the village had ever thought to change it.

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Mab, the old collie, wandered through the wet paste on the shed floor before either of us noticed. She went padding out across the flagstones and left prints everywhere, neat little pads with a dent in the middle where the fur had grown thin over the years. Dilys laughed so hard she had to sit on an upturned bucket. She said to leave them alone, that the dog had done better work than any of us that morning, and so we did. We swept around them for a week.

We finished the hedge in the last of the light, the chevrons running down each stool like the folds of a coat. Dilys stood at the gate with her hands in her pockets and counted the marks under her breath, one for every winter she had been married to the place. I stayed by the shed step, dotting the last few stems while the rain began to tick on the slates.

By March the weather had taken the chevrons from every stool, and the dots had gone soft and then gone altogether. The print on the shed step was still there, though, the little heart pressed deep into the grain where Mab used to sit and watch us work.