Black and grey dotwork tattoo of flowers and leaves inside a dotted triangle on the inner forearm near the wrist.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Floral cluster in a dotted triangle on a wrist

Dotwork · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A cluster of blossoms and leaves, including large open flowers and smaller clustered buds, sits inside an outline of dotted triangle on the inner forearm near the wrist. The flowers are rendered with fine single-needle linework and stippled dot shading that fades toward the lower left edge of the triangle. The tattoo is shown in black and grey ink against a plain white background, with the arm filling the frame.

Dotwork Botanical Geometric Forearm Flower Blossom Leaves Triangle Dot Bud

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Don't reach for the bottle yet, Tom, you'll hear the end of it first. The Delphine came up the Trent in the wet March of 1861 with a hold full of pale flowers packed in sacking, pressed tight as loaves. Captain Ruddock swore they were bound for a Lincoln apothecary. They were not. Every bloom had been cut with a finger's length of stem and wrapped with its leaves still on, and by the time she reached Gainsborough the whole cabin smelt of them, sweet and heavy as a shut church.

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Ada Pell kept the lock cottage at Torksey and sold eggs to every barge that waited on the gates. She saw the captain drop a bloom on the towpath when he thought nobody was looking, five petals curled like a cupped hand with a yellow throat. She picked it up, pressed it into her apron pocket, and by the next morning she had a cutting rooted in a cracked jug on her windowsill. Nobody taught her that. She simply did it, the way some folk whistle.

Ruddock came back every spring after that, tying up at the same iron ring, asking after the eggs and never quite asking after her. She never told him about the jug. By the time she was an old woman there were tin buckets of those flowers along every foot of that bank, and the lock lane went white each June, so that bargemen used to steer by the smell alone.

If you walk down to Torksey tonight you'll still catch it, faint over the water. That's the captain's cargo, Tom, the one he never got paid for. Now pass the rum, and mind the lamp, the candle's the only thing in this cabin Ada's looked after properly.