Black and grey yin yang tattoo with a small dot on the upper back, near the left shoulder blade, seen from behind.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Yin yang tattoo on upper back

Back · Black and grey · Photo

A bare back is shown from behind, with a black and grey yin yang symbol placed on the upper back near the left shoulder blade. The symbol appears to be mostly solid black ink with a lighter grey section and a small dot, and the lines look smooth and bold. The composition is a close, slightly angled view with a mirror and a tiled wall in the background.

Back Yin yang Circle Dot Symbol

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The last of the Bramley wagons had rattled down the lane before Nell Haskett got the knife out of her apron. It was late August, and wasps were drunk on the windfalls under the Hollis trees. Her grandfather had always said a graft was a marriage made with a blade, and he had never let her do the cutting until she could keep her hand still while a wasp walked across her knuckles.

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The old tree at the top of the orchard had split at the fork, two trunks grown out of one root. The left side bore pale green fruit that tasted of rain. The right side bore dark red apples that cracked in the sun and stained the grass. Nobody had grafted it. It had simply decided. Her grandfather called it the argument, and every autumn he sat in his chair by the gate with a blanket over his knees and watched the wind try to pick a winner.

She cut a sliver of bark and wood from the red limb, no longer than her little finger, and matched its green edge to a notch she had opened in the pale stock. "Tight, or it bleeds out," he called from the gate without opening his eyes. She bound it with raffia, pressed the join with her thumb, and sealed it with warm wax until it looked like a drop of candle that had set mid-fall.

At dusk she went back up to check it. The two trunks leaned together at the fork, and where the bark met there was a small dark knot, the same colour as the red wood, sitting in the pale bark like a seed that had landed in the wrong place. She could have cut it out. Instead she sat with her back against the trunk until the wasps went quiet, and the wax went hard as a fingernail over the join.