Black branches with pink and red cherry blossoms tattooed across a woman's shoulder, upper arm and upper chest, against a dark background.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Cherry blossom branches across a shoulder

Botanical · Shoulder · Mixed · Photo

A close crop of a woman's shoulder, collarbone and chest with red lipstick visible at the top of the frame. Dark grey-black branches with fine linework and soft shading spread from the collarbone over the shoulder and down the upper arm, with clusters of pink and red blossoms. The subject is lit from the side against a plain dark backdrop, which keeps the tattoo as the focus.

Botanical Shoulder Upper arm Chest Cherry blossom Branch Blossom Tree

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The net came up heavy off the Dogger that March, and Skipper Rennie swore it was a drowned cow until the winch swung the first branch over the rail. It was black as wire and tangled through the mesh like something pulled from a hedge. Nobody on the Brightwater had ever hauled a tree from that far out, and Jessie Coull, who could name any fish by its skin, went quiet over it.

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We picked the net clear through the morning. Pink petals kept coming up with the catch, pressed flat between the cod and the weed, and by noon the scuppers were speckled with them and the gulls had stopped bothering to dive. Rennie wanted the lot over the side. Jessie wanted it kept. Her gran had a cherry at the end of the lane in Fraserburgh, she said, and the old folk reckoned the blossom came first to tell you the boats would come home.

I didn't believe her, but I wedged the biggest branch into the wheelhouse corner, where it dripped sea water onto the chart table for two days. Rennie logged the trip as nil. Every time the boat rolled, a few more petals slid off the twigs and skittered across the floor, and I found myself counting them the way I'd count hours on a night watch.

We came in on the third morning with the hold half empty. When I stepped onto the quay the wind caught the petals still stuck to my oilskins and lifted them over the harbour wall like a flock of small red birds heading inland. Jessie stood beside me with her hands in her pockets, not sorry at all.