White mandala and dreamcatcher design with hanging feathers on the palm of a hand, worn alongside silver rings and blue nails.

White mandala dreamcatcher on a hand

Geometric · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

A hand is photographed on a weathered grey wooden surface, with a white mandala and dreamcatcher design across the palm and a feather hanging from its lower edge. The design uses fine white linework and dotted detail, and it reads as a temporary or non-permanent design rather than dark ink. Several silver rings with moonstone and filigree detail sit on the fingers, and the nails are painted blue-grey.

Geometric Hand Mandala Dreamcatcher Feather Ring Hand

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Nessa carried the white paint up fourteen flights because the lift in Harrow House had been broken since March, and because her grandmother had always said the wind would not climb stairs it had not been asked up. The wind had been trapped in the stairwell for a week, moaning through the letterboxes of every flat on the estate. Old Mrs Pell on the ninth floor said it was looking for a way into the dreams of sleeping people, and it would find them if the nets were not mended.

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Mrs Pell had a net of cord strung across her kitchen window, knotted with pigeon feathers the wind had dropped on her balcony. Every hole in the net, she said, was a door for a good dream to slip through, and the bad dreams would tangle and stay. Nessa asked why the net was not enough on its own. Mrs Pell only tapped the window and said that a net needs a pattern, the way a road needs a map.

So Nessa drew the pattern on the wall of the stairwell, a ring of petals inside a ring of dots, a star inside the petals, and a feather hanging from the lower edge on a single fine line. She drew it again on the landing and again on the door of the lift. That night the moon came up over the car park, pale as a stone held to a lamp, and the wind went quiet for the first time in a week.

Mrs Pell died in the autumn. The wind came back the night after the funeral and moaned through the letterboxes as before. Nessa went up the stairs with a tin of paint and a brush, and found a single pigeon feather tied into the net at the kitchen window, though no one had lived in that flat for days. She drew the pattern again, and the rain washed it off by morning, as it always does, so she drew it again.