Fine line black tattoo of a slender branch with three blossoms and a bud on the inner forearm.

Fine line blossom branch on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A thin branch sweeps diagonally across the inner forearm, bearing three open blossoms with ruffled petals and a small closed bud at the lower end. The linework is delicate, single-needle style in dark grey-black with no shading or fill. The skin tone is pale and the background is a wooden floor, with the tattoo centred in the frame.

Fine line Botanical Forearm Branch Blossom Flower Bud Cherry blossom

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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

Put that knife down and sit on the flour sack, because my hands are too greasy to hold a cup and I'll not say it twice over the porridge. The range was ticking that morning like it had a grudge against the cold, and the Serena was grinding her way up the Channel with a cargo of Welsh coal and nothing in her hold worth stealing. Then the bread tin shifted, and out came a boy called Sam Corrie, all elbows and soot, holding a jam jar wrapped in wax paper.

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He'd hidden in the coal bunker two nights running. In the jar was a sprig of cherry blossom he'd cut from his mother's orchard outside Teston, in Kent, the week before he went to sea. He meant it for a girl who'd promised to wait for him at the lock gates in Rotterdam. He was sure she would. I told him the blossom would be dead by the Dutch coast, and he said the blossom would do as it was told.

So we kept it on the shelf above the bread proving, where the warmth came up off the ovens and the water never went cold. Three flowers opened by the time we passed the Gull Light. The fourth stayed shut, and the little bud at the bottom of the stem never moved at all, though Sam talked to it every watch like a mate on a long night.

We tied up in Rotterdam on a wet Thursday and the lock gates were empty. The girl never came. Sam stood on the quay a long while with his cap in his fists, then came back aboard and put the jar in my hands without a word. I've kept it every spring since. I leave that last bud closed, mind, because somebody ought to keep something back for later, and I'm not telling you why.