Back view of a woman with a red blossom branch tattoo on her upper back and a small infinity symbol and script on her neck, in a navy tank top.

Blossom branch tattoo on upper back

Botanical · Back · Mixed · Photo

Seen from behind against a white backdrop, a woman with her hands in her hair wears a navy tank top printed with the words INHALE CONFIDENCE EXHALE DOUBT. A branch with red blossoms and thin dark stems runs across the upper back near the shoulder blade, with clean line detail and soft shading. A small infinity symbol and two short lines of script sit on the nape of the neck, and the image is mainly red and dark ink on skin.

Botanical Fine line Back Neck Branch Blossom Flower Infinity symbol Script

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The branch was already cut by the time the abbot came down the cloister steps, so there was no sense in arguing with it. Brother Oswin stood in the herb garden holding the shears like a man who had been caught at something, and the old cherry on the south wall was bare on one side where he had taken it.

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Mind you, it had flowered in the wrong month. Every monk at Saint Brannoc's knew that tree blossomed only after the first frost, and this year it had gone red in the middle of October, stubborn as a debt. The abbot wanted it carried to the village before the rain knocked every petal into the mud. He wrapped the cut end in grey linen and handed it to Ellis, the youngest lay brother, who had been told that morning he would walk to the mill and not come back until he had a letter for the miller's daughter.

Ellis took the long road over the bridge, as he was told, and the branch swayed against his shoulder with every step. Somewhere past the second stile he began to count the blossoms. He reached nine before he lost the thread, and by then the wind had pulled three more loose and sent them spinning down the water toward the mill. He thought of the letter in his coat, which was mostly apology and partly a poem, and he decided that a branch was a poor way to say sorry but a good way to be remembered.

At the mill, the miller's daughter took the branch from him without a word, looked at the red flowers and then at him, and laughed so hard she had to sit on the step. Some say she kept it in a jar on the sill for forty years. Others say the jar was never found. Either way, the blossoms came back to the wall the following spring, and that is why the monks of Saint Brannoc's still cut the first branch in October and never ask why.