Colour tattoo of a vine with blue, purple and red flowers, a bud and green leaves on the upper arm, in a botanical style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Flower vine on upper arm

Botanical · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

A vine of flowers runs up the upper arm, with a large blue bloom at the top, a purple flower on the left, a red flower lower down and a closed pink bud between them. Green leaves and curling tendrils connect the blossoms, drawn with dark outlines and soft shading. The bright colours stand out against the skin, and the design follows the curve of the arm from the shoulder downwards.

Botanical Upper arm Flower Vine Leaves Bud Tendril

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The vine had been climbing the orchard wall since before Mabel Tennant buried her husband, and by the spring of the drought it had reached the sill of the top window, where nobody had opened the shutters in a year. She went up the ladder with a pair of shears in her apron pocket and her sister's letter tucked in beside them, the one that said the coach would be at Harrow Cross on Thursday if the roads held.

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The blue bloom at the top of the wall had opened early that year, wide as a cupped hand and striped at the heart like a sky before rain. Old Pell, who kept the bees at the far end of the lane, said a flower that opened before its time was a promise made in a hurry, and promises made in a hurry had a way of coming due. Mabel did not believe him. She cut the tendrils that had wound round the gutter, one by one, and dropped them into the dry grass below.

Halfway down, a purple blossom hung from a thread of stem, and beneath it a red one burned where the ladder rung was worn smooth. Between them a pink bud sat closed and tight, as it had sat all winter, refusing to open for anyone's hurry. She left that one alone. Her sister had always been the bud, she thought, folded up and stubborn, waiting for weather that would never be right.

On Thursday the coach came up the lane with its wheels grinding. Mabel was already at the gate, and when the door opened she found her sister stepping down with her hat in her hand and a face the colour of the blue bloom, worn thin by the long road. Neither of them spoke. The bud on the wall, Mabel saw over her shoulder, had finally split its green sheath and shown a sliver of pink to the sun.