Colour tattoo of a blue bluebonnet flower spike with yellow buds, a green stem and a leaf, placed on the ankle.

Bluebonnet flower on an ankle

Botanical · Ankle · Colour · Photo

A small tattoo of a bluebonnet flower spike with blue petals, yellow buds at the top and a green stem with a single leaf. The outlines are dark and defined, and the petals are shaded with lighter and darker blues. The design sits centrally on the lower leg against a plain skin background, with a brown leather chair visible behind.

Botanical Ankle Flower Stem Leaf Wildflower

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The last tent comes down in a field outside Brenham, and you are the one who has to fold it, because nobody else on the crew will touch the canvas now that the money has gone. The field is blue. Bluebonnets have come up along the fence line overnight the way they do every March, a whole county of them, and old Dell, who tamed lions before his knees gave out, says it is the only act in Texas that never needs booking.

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Your grandfather painted the show's name across the bandwagon in letters that have since flaked to nothing. For forty years the Pell Brothers Travelling Circus opened with a spotlight on a single girl standing on a galloping grey, and for forty years the crowds clapped for the wrong things, the brass and the sawdust, never the quiet second before the horse turned. You still remember that second. You keep trying to find it again in the ring.

On the final afternoon you walk the fence with a paper sack and pick a spike of bluebonnets, yellow buds and all, and carry it back past the wagons. Dell is sitting on the step with the ledger across his knees, reading the same column he has read all week. He doesn't look up. He holds out his hand for the flower, turns it slowly, and counts the buds like a man checking change.

'They always come back the year after,' he says. 'That's the trick of them. You only have to be somewhere they can find you.' He presses the stem flat between two pages, closes the ledger, and hands it back. You leave the field unfolded for one more night, and by morning the grass has already begun to forget where the tent stood.