Black and grey chrysanthemum tattoo in botanical dotwork style on the ankle, shown in a close-up photo.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Chrysanthemum on the ankle

Botanical · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

The photograph shows a chrysanthemum bloom with layered, curled petals, tattooed on a lower leg just above a dark sock or shoe. Bold outlines define each petal, and the shading uses fine stippling, especially around the petal edges and the centre. The image is greyscale with a softly blurred background and even lighting.

Botanical Dotwork Ankle Chrysanthemum Flower Bloom Petal

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Now sit close, because the wind off the Fens is getting into the tent poles and I'll not have you missing the bit where Mr Ambrose Tull loses his best bloom to a lad with a barrow. Every autumn the fair pitched on the green at Thornhill, and every autumn the old showman cleared a corner of his caravan for the chrysanthemums.

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Tull's bloom was a white and bronze thing the size of a cartwheel, its petals curled like the pages of a book somebody had left out in the rain. He grew it in a cold frame behind the dodgems, fed it on soot water and spite, and swore it would take the silver cup at the county show. Then the night before judging, the frost came down hard and blackened the rim of it. He sat up with a paraffin lamp, nipping at the ruined edges with tweezers, and wept into his moustache like a man who had never wept before in his life.

The lad with the barrow was called Eli Parr, who sold toffee apples off a handcart and had nothing but a sack of spent blooms from the allotments. He came knocking at four in the morning, asking if the old man wanted a bit of bloom to fill the gap in his display. Tull told him to clear off. Eli laid three dark-centred flowers on the step anyway and walked away whistling, the way you whistle when you have decided something.

At nine the judges walked the rows. Tull's ruined bloom sat third in its tin pot, but it was the three dark flowers from the step that the judges kept turning over in their gloved hands. The silver cup went to Eli Parr, who stood at the back of the tent with his hands in his pockets, looking as if the whole thing had happened to someone else. Tull walked over, pressed the cup into the boy's chest, and said the only honest thing a showman ever says: you've made me look a fool, son, and I'd do it again.