Grey geometric tattoo of a winged eye inside a triangle, with arrows and dotted lines, on a person's abdomen, with a small colour rose and diamond tattoo below.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Winged eye in triangle on abdomen

Geometric · Other · Mixed · Photo

A winged eye sits inside a triangle, with a pair of outstretched wings above and below, linked by dotted lines and three arrows pointing left. The eye and wings are rendered in fine black linework with grey shading, while a small red rose and blue diamond at the lower edge are in colour. The tattoo is centred on the abdomen with a navel piercing visible to the left of it.

Geometric Fine line Other Eye Triangle Wing Arrow Dotted line Rose Diamond Bird

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The water carts ran the Ruddle Track at night, because by noon the sun would cook a man's wits in his skull. Old Sefton Crane drove the mission cart out to Holm Wells, and he always said a bird flew ahead of him in the dark, a hawk with a wing spread for every direction. When the dust rose and he lost the ruts, the bird would circle back and drop a grey feather on the seat beside him. The feathers always pointed left, and the people of Holm said the bird had an eye set in a triangle on its breast, an eye that never closed, so it could watch the road for travellers who could not see it.

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One summer Sefton grew proud. He had driven the track forty years, he said, and he would not be steered by a bird. He turned the cart straight on, and the wheels dropped into a dry wash where the ground had split like old leather. The axle snapped. He sat in the heat with two jugs and a sack of flour, and the sun came up white over the pan. Before noon he saw a feather lying on the cracked earth, and then another, both pointing left, and he crawled after them on his knees for most of a morning.

The feathers led him to a flat stone the size of a table, and under it, in a hollow the colour of tea, was a little seep of water no bigger than a palm. He drank until he was sick, then sat and wept like a child.

He carried a dish of that water to the crossroads each Thursday after that, and a sack of grain for whatever might eat it. Some weeks the dish was empty. Some weeks there was only a feather on the rim, pointing left toward Holm Wells, where the cart always got through.