Fine line botanical tattoo of a leafy sprig with small berries on the upper arm, shown in grey ink against a plain wall.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Fine line leafy sprig on upper arm

Fine line · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A slender sprig of leaves and small berries curves diagonally across the outer upper arm, drawn in delicate single-weight linework. The ink appears soft grey to brown with minimal shading, leaving the leaves mostly outlined and open. The arm fills the right side of a neutral frame, with a grey top and a denim skirt with a red belt at the left.

Fine line Botanical Upper arm Leaves Sprig Branch Berry Foliage

Find an artist for this

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

You are already elbow-deep in the rye dough when the first van pulls up outside on Carrow Lane, its headlights sliding across the shutters. Flour has settled in the creases of your apron again. Nan Oduya, who has run the ovens here since before the roof was patched, says the bread knows what time it is even when the clock on the wall doesn't, and you have never been sure whether she means it as a joke.

Keep reading

The herbs come from the crate in the back yard. Nan sends you out for a sprig of rosemary for the focaccia and a handful of rowan berries she dried last autumn in a paper bag marked in pencil. "Sour, but they cut through the butter," she says. You pick a stem where the leaves thin out toward the tip, the way she showed you, and tuck it under the tray with the oil.

By half four the windows have gone from black to the colour of weak tea. Nan hums something from the radio that ended an hour ago. You shape the last loaves and score them, one long slash each, and the scoring goes wrong on the fifth, the blade dragging. She doesn't say anything. She takes the loaf, turns it, and shows you the angle again, her wrist loose.

When the first customer knocks on the glass, the sprig is on the cooling rack, a little wilted, its berries gone dull. You slide the tray into the window. The bread goes out warm, and nobody asks where the herbs came from.