Black ink winged eagle tattoo across the upper back of a woman in a red hat and red dress, holding a red football against a black background.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Winged eagle tattoo on a woman's back

Back · Black and grey · Photo

A woman is seen from behind, wearing a wide red hat and a red backless dress, and holding a red football in one hand against a black background. Across her upper back is a large tattoo of a bird with spread wings, rendered in solid black ink with bold shapes and some fine detail. The composition is dramatic, with the red tones of the clothing and ball contrasting with the dark backdrop and the tattoo.

Back Woman Eagle Wing Hat Dress Bird

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The eagle had been painted onto the lead wagon of the Hollis travelling fair before anyone in the convoy could remember who had done it. Mags Corrigan swore it was the same black bird that had sat on the ridge above Dunstable the summer the big top came down in a crosswind, and that it had flown ahead of them every town since, wings spread over the ticket hatch like a sign that the ground was safe to pitch on.

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Ruth Hollis did not believe in birds that led anybody anywhere. She ran the coconut shy and the penny falls, and she believed in weighted rubber and tight rules. Every Saturday she hung a red leather football from the top of the ball-toss canvas, a prize nobody had ever taken, because the rope ran high across the pitch and anyone who knocked it down cleanly had to hand it straight back.

Then in September a lad from the cider sheds came up the hill with a split lip and a crumpled ten pound note, and he did not look at the prizes at all. He looked up at the eagle. 'My nan had that on her kitchen wall,' he said. 'Said it kept the rain off the house.' Ruth took his money, and for the first time in eleven seasons she unhooked the ball and let someone walk away with it.

That night a downpour soaked the whole field, but the wagon's canvas stayed dry. At dawn Ruth found the football back on its hook, scuffed and cold, with a small wet handprint pressed into the seams. She left it where it was, and the painted bird, for once, did not seem to be watching the road.