Pink cherry blossom branch drawn in fine ink with brown stems, buds and open flowers on a white background, shown as a tattoo design.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Cherry blossom branch design

Botanical · Colour · Flash

A drawn branch with a grey-brown stem curves diagonally across the image, bearing open pink cherry blossom flowers and closed buds. The flowers are outlined in thin dark linework and filled with soft pink, with darker pink centres. The plain white background leaves the design isolated.

Botanical Cherry blossom Branch Flower Bud Petal

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mind the step, it's loose, always has been. Sit there where the light comes through the stairwell glass, and I'll tell you about Mrs Okafor's branch, the one that came up in a carrier bag to the fourteenth floor of Garnet House the spring they painted the lifts yellow. Nobody knew where it came from at first. Her nephew had cut it from a tree by the canal, against every sign the council ever put up, wrapped it in a wet tea towel, and taken two buses with it on his knee. She stood it in a jam jar on the balcony rail, and the wind off the motorway kept knocking it over, so she tied it to the railing with a shoelace.

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All through April the buds opened, pale pink, one at a time, as if each one had to think about it first. The men in the car park below stopped shouting at the bins long enough to look up. A boy from flat nine drew it in biro on his forearm and showed everyone on the stairs. Then came the week of rain that never seemed to end, and the petals went brown at the edges and fell into the drain, and the stems turned the colour of wet slate. Her son said it was finished. She said nothing, and went on watering it each morning from the kettle.

In June the council moved her down to the ground floor, into a flat with a garden that smelt of cut grass. The removal men carried the sofa out, the boxes, the lamp, and then she stood on the empty fourteenth floor a last time to check the windows. The jar was still tied to the rail. In its water sat one small bud, swollen and fat, that nobody had noticed.