Botanical tattoo of blue five-petalled flowers and dark grey vines with curls and leaves wrapping from the ankle across the top of the foot.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Blue flower vine across ankle and foot

Botanical · Ankle · Mixed · Photo

A vine of blue five-petalled flowers with dark grey stems, leaves and spiral tendrils runs up the outside of the ankle and across the top of the foot. The flowers are shaded in lighter and darker blues, while the stems and curls are rendered in grey linework with soft shading. The design sits against a plain brown leather surface, with the foot angled so the vine follows its curve.

Botanical Ankle Flower Vine Leaf Tendril Spiral Stem

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The vine had come over the wall the summer my father stopped speaking to the Ashby brothers, and nobody in Hollin could say who had planted it. It ran up from the lane where the ditch was wettest, looped over the gatepost and kept going, putting out little blue stars at every joint as if it had been told to count the stones. Mum called it a weed. Gran called it a message, though she never would say from whom.

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When the council man came with his clipboard in October, he wanted the boundary wall clear by Friday. He stood in the lane with his hands on his hips and said the wall would need repointing, and that a root that deep would take the mortar with it. I said nothing. I went up the path in the dusk with the secateurs in my coat pocket and knelt in the wet leaves, meaning to cut it back to the first joint the way Gran had shown me. Instead I found the stem had split the stone and gone right through, pale and thick as a wrist, into the field on the far side.

I sat there a long while with the cold coming up through my knees. Then I put the secateurs away. In the morning I told the man the wall was sound and the vine was not my business, and he could argue with it himself. He did not. The blue stars are still there every July, flat and patient along the top of the stone, and when I walk past at dusk they look as if they are holding their breath, waiting to see whether I will be the one who finally lets them grow.