Black and white photo of a bare winter tree tattoo in solid black ink on a person's lower back, in a botanical style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Bare tree tattoo on lower back

Botanical · Back · Black and grey · Photo

The photograph shows a person seen from behind, kneeling with long hair falling over a striped top, with a black tattoo of a leafless tree on the lower back. The tree has a dark trunk and a spreading network of fine, tapering branches, with a bold silhouette and clean, even linework. The image is monochrome, so the ink appears as solid black against the skin, with the tree centred in the lower half of the frame.

Botanical Back Tree Bare tree Branches Silhouette

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The old pear went bare in the second week of August. My grandfather stood at the gate with the flask in one hand and studied it the way he studied a bad bill. Every other tree in Pritchard's orchard was still heavy with plums and wasps, but this one had let go of its leaves overnight and stood with its branches spread open against the white sky, fine as the veins in a dead moth's wing.

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'Blight,' he said, though he didn't sound sure. He walked the rows with his hands behind his back, the way he did at the county show, and he wouldn't let me climb it. I wanted to see whether the twigs snapped or bent. He said a tree could do its grieving in its own time and I would only be in the way of it. I thought he was talking about the tree.

Mum rang that evening to say the solicitor had finished with the cottage. Grandad hadn't been well since spring, though nobody had used the word. I sat on the bottom rung of the orchard ladder with the phone against my ear and watched the shadow of the pear creep across the grass towards the gate, branch by branch, dark and exact, as if someone were tracing the tree onto the ground with a pen.

In the morning he was out before me, and the tree had three leaves on it, pale green and curled at the edges like something pressed in a book. 'Late frost in its sleep,' he said, not looking at me. We picked the plums into crates without talking. Before we left I took a pencil from my pocket and, on the back of a seed packet in the shed, I drew the pear the way it stood that morning, every branch showing, the way he had taught me to draw things I wasn't ready to lose.