Colour botanical tattoo of pink blossoms, orange flowers, grey-blue sprigs and green leaves across the upper arm and shoulder, shown in three views.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Botanical flower sleeve on upper arm

Botanical · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

The tattoo shows a cluster of pink open flowers with yellow centres, orange blooms, grey-blue flower spikes and sprigs of green foliage. Fine dark linework outlines the petals and leaves, with soft shading and blended tones giving the flowers and leaves depth. The design wraps across the upper arm and shoulder, shown in three photographs from different angles.

Botanical Upper arm Shoulder Flower Blossom Leaves Foliage Sprig Wildflower

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The last week of August the wild roses along the orchard wall went over all at once, their petals browning at the edges and dropping onto the grass like pressed paper. My uncle Tom said they were only weeds that had got above themselves, but he said the same of me, and he still let me sit on the tailgate with my sketchbook while he shook the Bramleys down.

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I was trying to get the grey-blue spikes of the lupins by the gate. They grew wild where the old tractor shed had stood, taller than the tractor had ever been, and they flowered only once a year, when the ground stayed damp. I had a box of pencils from a shop in Ludlow and a tin of watercolours that refused to blend. Every morning I walked the rows with a jam jar, collecting pips from the windfalls for the seed swap my mother ran from the church hall, and every morning the poppies had opened a little further into the stubble, orange as a struck match.

On the Friday Tom found me on my knees in the wet clover, drawing a sprig of foliage that had gone silver underneath. He asked what the flowers were for. I said I didn't know yet, which was true. He cut a Bramley from the low branch and handed it over and said the trees would only keep their fruit so long, the same as the roses, and that I should draw things while they still held their shape.

I drew the roses that afternoon with the apple on the bench beside me, and when the pencil ran down I went on with the grey. By the time the light went, the page held a whole shoulder of summer, flowers stacked on flowers, and the windfalls had gone soft in the grass where nobody thought to pick them up.