Colour tattoo of an Art Nouveau woman in profile with closed eyes, flowers in her dark swirling hair, on the outside of an ankle, shown from two angles.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Art Nouveau woman profile on an ankle

Ankle · Mixed · Photo

A woman's profile with closed eyes faces left, her long black hair curling into swirls and decorated with purple and blue flowers. A pale grey-blue circle sits behind her head, and a thin garland of small blue blossoms hangs beneath her chin. The linework is bold black with smooth flat colour fills, and the two photographs show the same ankle tattoo from different angles.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dearest Tomas, the post coach has not come over the Col de Sorrel since Tuesday, and the snow has filled the road to the height of the hitching post. I am writing by the window of the upper room, where the light is best and the draught least. Madame Riquet downstairs has decided I am a saint for sitting with her husband's cough, so I have not corrected her. Let her think so.

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You will laugh at what I have been doing with my hands. The gentians in the meadow below the chapel are the colour of a blue flame, and they close their petals every evening before the sun leaves the peaks. I gather them at dusk, while the wind still lets me stand straight, and I thread them onto green cord so they hang in a garland. It is foolish. I know it is foolish.

Yesterday I brushed out my hair for the first time in a week, and the knots came away in long black loops that I wound round my fingers like ribbon on a parcel. Madame Riquet's girl stood in the doorway and said the moon was looking out of my head. I told her the moon had better manners than that. Then I thought of you, bent over the lamp-glass in Lyon, grinding the circles you always said were the only honest shape.

So here is the arrangement. When the road opens I will carry the garland down folded inside this letter, and you will hold it up to the lamp so the blue catches the glass. If the snow keeps us here until spring, leave a candle burning in the workshop window. I will look for it from the top of the pass, a small round light against the dark, and I will know I am still expected.

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