Fine line tattoo of a thin black branch with pink cherry blossoms and buds across the skin, on a part of the body that is not clearly identifiable.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Cherry blossom branch in fine line

Fine line · Other · Mixed · Photo

A thin black branch runs diagonally across the skin, with several pink cherry blossom flowers and small closed buds attached along its length. The linework is fine and even, and the petals are shaded lightly in pink with darker centres. The branch is centred across the frame and the blossoms are spread along its full width.

Fine line Botanical Other Cherry blossom Branch Flower Bud Petal

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Ailsa,

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The branch came over on Tuesday's boat, wrapped in wet newspaper and tied with garden twine, addressed to the old schoolhouse in a hand I didn't recognise. Davie at the pier said it had ridden in the hold among the feed sacks, and that the skipper had grumbled the whole crossing about the smell, though I couldn't smell a thing when I unwrapped it. I put it in the jam jar on the sill to see if it was already dead, and by Thursday there were three buds the colour of a fingernail.

The label inside the paper was in English, careful and slanted, and said only: For whoever kept the tree at Ardcrann. Nobody has kept that tree since the gale took it in February. Mrs Buchan planted it the year the school opened, and she used to say it was a foreigner that had decided to stay, which is why the children called it the Visitor. I have been turning that label over for three days, trying to work out who in Osaka has heard of Ardcrann, and who would think to cut a branch from a tree that had already come down.

It's the slimmest little thing, black as a wire, with the pale blossoms hanging off it like something a child has pinned on carefully. The petals are not quite white and not quite pink, and each one has a darker heart, as if someone pressed a thumb there to hold it still.

I've moved the jar to the table where the afternoon light comes through. Come at Easter, if the ferry runs. I'd like you to see it open before the wind has the rest.

Love, Morag