Colour tattoo of a pink cherry blossom branch with a blue songbird on a woman's upper chest and shoulder.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Cherry blossom branch and bird on chest

Botanical · Chest · Colour · Photo

A woman's upper chest and shoulder show a colour tattoo of a cherry blossom branch with pink flowers, green leaves and small buds, with a blue and black songbird perched at the right end. The linework is clean and the petals and bird are softly shaded, with the branch running diagonally across the collarbone. Her face is cropped out, and her chest is covered by a red and white striped strapless top held in one hand.

Botanical Chest Cherry blossom Branch Flower Leaves Bird Songbird

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The graft took on the third attempt, which Dorothy said was about average for me. I had cut the scion from the old Kentish cherry behind St Aldhelm's in early March, bound it with waxed tape and carried it home in a shoebox, one hand on the lid the whole bus ride as if it might escape. Dorothy watched from the kitchen window with her arms folded, pretending not to care whether a tree planted in her back garden lived or died.

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A blue tit started coming while I worked. It hopped along the fence posts and cocked its head at my trowel as though inspecting a junior apprentice. Dorothy named it Mr Pell, after the verger who once told me my pruning was an insult to the parish. By April the graft had swollen into small green buds, and Mr Pell had taken to perching on the lowest branch to sing at the kitchen window, which Dorothy claimed was his way of saying thank you.

Then the letter came from the developers. The chapel field was to be sold, the orchard grubbed out, and the cherry on the wall left to the mercy of a car park. I read it at the table twice, folded it small and put it in the tin with the seed packets. Dorothy said nothing. She went out in her slippers and stood under the young tree in the wet grass until the kettle boiled dry.

The blossom opened the next morning, pale pink and heavy, and by noon the petals lay on the path like confetti nobody had asked for. Mr Pell came down onto the twig nearest the gate and sang until the surveyor's van drove past without stopping. Every April since, he has sat on that branch as though he signed the papers himself.