Soft pink and grey cherry blossom flowers and branches tattooed across the outer thigh of a woman in a black bra sitting on a bed.

Cherry blossom tattoo on a thigh

Botanical · Thigh · Mixed · Photo

A woman in a black bra sits on white bedding, showing a tattoo of cherry blossom flowers and branches across her outer thigh. The petals are shaded in soft pink with grey and black linework on the centres, stems and branches, giving a loose, sketch-like finish. The flowers sweep diagonally across the leg, with a phone and white towel visible in the lower part of the frame.

Botanical Thigh Cherry blossom Flower Branch Petal Leaves Bed

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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

Hold the lantern lower, lad, the path goes soft where the snow has been melting under it, and you will want your eyes on your feet rather than on that bundle on your back. Yes, that is the branch. You may look at it when we stop, and not before. I will tell it the way my grandmother told it to me on this same climb, and you will keep quiet until the bell at the top.

Keep reading

Long ago a carter called Imre Halloway drove salt mules over the Kestrel Gap every second week of the year. In the valley below the gap grew one cherry tree that bloomed in the last days of winter, before anybody sane had decided spring had come. His younger sister Dora lay dying in a cold room in the town on the far side of the pass, and she had asked for blossom and nothing else. So Imre cut a branch with a bread knife, wrapped it in oiled cloth, and set off with the mules in the dark.

The wind on the gap was merciless that year. Each time he stopped to rest the mules, a few pink petals worked loose from the cloth and blew off over the edge into the grey air. He tried to catch them. He pinned three to the inside of his collar with a thorn, and by the time the town lights showed below him the branch was nearly bare, just dark twigs and a few stubborn flowers sheltered in the fold.

Dora was asleep when he came in, so he laid the twigs on her blanket and waited. When she woke she looked at the bare wood, then at the three petals still stuck to his collar, and she laughed until she coughed. Those are the flowers, she said. You carried the rest over the mountain for me. So when you reach the top, do not offer the stone your branch. Offer the wind your thanks, and then get down the other side before the snow decides you are its guest.