Realistic cherry blossom tree tattoo with pink flowers, a full moon and a night sky covering the upper arm.

Cherry blossom tree and moon on upper arm

Realism · Upper arm · Mixed · Photo

A cherry blossom tree with bare branches and pink flowers rises from the base of the arm, framed by a large full moon and a dark, starry sky. The trunk and branches are shaded in soft greys and blacks with fine detail, while the blossoms and a small pink butterfly provide the only strong colour. The tattoo fills the upper arm, and the composition moves upward from the grassy ground toward the moon.

Realism Botanical Upper arm Cherry blossom Tree Moon Night sky Star Butterfly Branches Flower

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The last boat had gone without her, so Ishbel Carr walked the cliff road with a sack of seed potatoes on one shoulder and the wind pushing at her back. The tree stood where her uncle had said it would, alone in the rough grass above the bay. Islanders called it the Lamp, because it had flowered in February for as long as anyone's grandmother could remember. Nobody had planted it. The story was that a Norwegian sailor had left a sapling in a tin pail and walked off up the hill without looking back.

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She set the sack down and looked up. The branches were bare, black lines drawn against a sky thick with stars, and the moon sat low over the water as if someone had pinned it there. Pink blossom hung in clusters where no blossom should be. A single butterfly, pale as a scrap of silk, turned slow circles around the lowest bough.

Her uncle had told her the tree only opened for someone who owed a debt. Ishbel had laughed at him across the kitchen table with the kettle going. Now she felt foolish standing in the wet grass, holding her breath like a child at a wishing well. She pressed her palm to the trunk, rough as an old net, and said the name of the man she had not written to in eleven years. Nothing happened, except that the butterfly settled on her wrist, weightless, and stayed there.

Down in the bay a light went out in the keeper's cottage. The moon slid a little higher, and the petals began to drift onto the potatoes. Ishbel left the sack where it lay and walked home with one blossom folded in her coat pocket, the butterfly still riding her wrist down the cliff road until the lights of the village came up to meet them.