Colourful tattoo on the upper arm of a woman wearing a rust denim vest over a striped top, outdoors.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Coloured upper arm tattoo under a denim vest

Traditional · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

A woman is photographed from the chest to the thighs in a rust-red cropped denim vest, a black and white striped top and dark trousers. A colourful tattoo with dark outlines and green foliage-like shapes sits on her upper arm, partly hidden by the vest sleeve. The background is a dry grassy outdoor area with a fence and a house, and the image has a warm, slightly faded tone.

Traditional Upper arm Foliage Figure Outline

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The hedge along the lower field had been dead since Candlemas, but Mary Penhallow still went out to it every morning with the bucket, because her father had done so and his father before him, and nobody on the holding had ever asked why. The frost lay grey on the stubble. Rooks went over in a long ragged line towards the river.

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On the third morning of the hard weather she found a boy sitting in the ditch under the blackthorn. He was made of leaves, or seemed to be: his hair was fern, his coat stitched from ivy, and where his skin should have been there were green shapes like the undersides of holly, with dark lines running round them as if someone had inked the edges. He did not look cold. He looked at the bucket.

"You've been feeding the hedge," he said. "It's been a long time since anyone fed the hedge."

She told him there was no milk to spare, only the skim, and he laughed, a sound like wind through a dry hedge, and said skim would do. She set it on the stone. When she looked back he had folded himself into the blackthorn, and only a fox was watching her from the gap, its breath smoking.

That spring the lower field came up green before any other on the farm, and the ewes lambed without trouble. Each winter after, she left a bowl at the gap. Her grandson, who had never believed a word of it, once asked why the hawthorn was never cut back. She showed him the frost on the wire, and the one bare branch that kept its buds through January, and told him to mind his manners when he passed the gate.