Black and grey fine line tattoo of blossoms, buds and a thin branch wrapping across the inner wrist and forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Blossom sprig on a wrist

Botanical · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A cluster of open blossoms, smaller buds and leaves sits along a thin, curving branch across the inner wrist. The linework is fine and delicate, with soft grey shading that gives the petals depth and a faded, botanical look. The design is black and grey and runs diagonally across the frame against a plain, warm tan background.

Botanical Fine line Forearm Blossom Flower Branch Bud Leaves

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Past the last village where the road gives up, there was a castle with no roof, and in its great hall grew a cherry tree that had split the flagstones with its roots. The steward of the valley, a man called Oswin Vell, had been ordered to cut it down when the old lord died, for a tree in a hall was bad luck and worse manners. He took his axe up the hill on a grey morning in March and stood under the branches until the axe grew heavy in his hands.

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The tree was already in flower. It had pale petals in clusters on thin bent twigs, and the buds were still tight and dark along the stems, as if waiting for someone to give them leave. Oswin sat on a fallen column and ate his bread. A girl came up the path with a basket of eggs and asked what he was doing, and he said he was deciding whether a thing could be sorry.

She laughed and said a tree could not be sorry, but a steward could, and that was a heavier kind of weight. She sat beside him and told him the tree had been planted by a bride who died before her wedding, and that the lord had carried blossom down from this hall every spring since, pressing it between the pages of his account book until the paper went thin as moth wings.

Oswin walked down the hill without the axe. The next spring, when the petals lay drifted across the flagstones, he found the account book open on the steward's table. One pressed flower had faded to the grey of old pencil, and beneath it the lord's hand had written a single line: still here.