Black ink pen drawing of an anatomical heart with daisies, a rose and morning glory growing from it, with butterflies and birds around it.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Anatomical heart with flowers and butterflies

Botanical · Black and grey · Flash

A black ink drawing on white paper shows an anatomical heart with flowers, leaves and stems growing out of its top. Daisies, a rose and morning glory bloom above, while butterflies and small birds are scattered around the sides. Fine stippling and hatching build the shading on the heart and petals, and a clear pen lies at the lower left.

Botanical Realism Heart Anatomical heart Flower Daisy Rose Leaves Butterfly Bird

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The morning glory had found its way through the fence again by the time Dad came down for his tea, its trumpets opened flat against the shed as if it had paid the rent. He stood at the kitchen window in his dressing gown and said the bindweed would have the whole plot by August if somebody didn't put a stop to it.

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I had the fine pen already out on the table. Dad drew the way he did everything, slowly, with his tongue caught between his teeth. He had found the anatomy plate in a jumble-sale book in Holt, a heart the colour of old brick, and had been copying it onto the backs of seed packets since February. 'Nobody draws a heart without the arteries,' he said. I told him the arteries were the only part he was getting right, and he laughed the cough laugh that had been arriving more often since the winter.

Mum's daisies were coming up through the cracks in the path, the ones she had scattered over the years without asking anybody. The rose she trained along the washing line was still putting out buds, and the small birds had started coming down to the feeder again, three or four at a time, the way they did before the cold. Dad put his finger on the drawing where the valves met and said what the doctor had said, that the heart kept its own time whether anyone was watching or not.

He finished the last butterfly while I washed up. When I looked over his shoulder, the birds were leaving the page in a loose line toward the edge, and he had drawn the morning glory climbing out of the top chamber as if it had always grown there. 'Leave the bindweed,' he said. 'It's only trying to get somewhere.'