Fine line black tattoo of a crescent moon with a leaf and closed bud on the inner wrist.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Crescent moon and bud on the wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo is a thin black outline of a crescent moon, with a leaf and a closed bud rising from below it inside the curve. The linework is even and unshaded, and the design sits on the inner wrist against a patterned rug. The photograph is taken at a slight angle with the hand turned towards the camera.

Fine line Botanical Forearm Crescent moon Leaf Bud Line art

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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

The lift in Carrow House had been out since Easter, so Mum and I climbed the fourteen floors every evening with the shopping between us, counting the landings out loud to keep ourselves honest. On the fourth floor someone had hung a string of fairy lights that never came on. On the ninth, a boy had painted a blue door shut in a bad temper. I stopped counting at eleven because my breath got in the way.

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The seedling was Mum's idea. She found a yoghurt pot of cress on the windowsill of the launderette and carried it home like a lamp, then set it on our balcony rail beside the geraniums that had given up. Every morning she pressed a thumb into the soil, and every evening she said the same thing: nothing yet. The council man measuring the balconies for new railings said the planters would have to go by autumn. She thanked him and asked whether a yoghurt pot counted as a planter.

The moon came up over the bins that week, a thin white paring hooked above the car park, and I swear the cress leaned towards it. One night I opened the balcony door and found a closed green bud pushed up through the soil, tight as a fist, a leaf folded either side as if it was holding its breath. Mum cried a little, pretending it was the wind.

We never found out what it would have become. The railings went up in October and the pot went in the skip with the geraniums. I kept a torn-out picture of the moon tucked in the bathroom mirror, and some mornings I still reach for the windowsill before I remember there is nothing there to check.