Black ink botanical flash drawing of a trailing vine with five-petalled flowers and leaves, shown flat on white paper with no body placement.

Floral vine design drawn on paper

Botanical · Black and grey · Flash

A black ink drawing of a trailing vine carrying several open flowers and small leaves, arranged in a gentle arc across the sheet. The flowers have bold outlines with dark shaded centres and hatched petal detail, while the stems and leaves are drawn in clean, single lines. The design is shown in black and white on plain paper, with a pencil sketch partly visible at the top edge.

Botanical Flower Vine Leaf Floral Stem

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You want the one about the hedge that grew over the wedding gate, the one my mother swore on? Sit closer then, the fire wants feeding and so do I. Every spring the bramble-rose along the lane of Merrow Cross put out its wild flowers, five petals and a dark heart like a thumbprint of ink, and every spring the old men went out with their shears and came back with nothing. Then came the year Tamsin Vell had to marry Owen Pryce across the stile, because her father had said no to him at the church door and yes to him at the gate, and a feud is a stubborn thing to undo in a single day.

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The bride was not allowed to walk the lane. So the vine did it for her. Nobody saw it climb. They only saw, at the morning bell, that it had come right across the road in a long curve, lifting over the ditch and dipping to the hawthorn, and that every bloom had turned to face the church. The vine had leaves on it, small and sharp as a tailor's needles, and it carried a flower at every bend, each one opened wide as a hand offering a coin. Her father stood in the road and counted seven of them before he gave up counting and cried into his hat.

The vine still hangs there, though the parish cut it back twice. Each time it comes again along the same arc, and on the ends of it, if you look close in June, you will find two blooms that never quite open, leaning towards one another like a couple at a gate. Whether that is luck or spite I leave to you. Now bank that log, child, and mind the sparks.