Botanical tattoo of a flowering sprig with green leaves running up a forearm, shaded in grey and green.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Flowering sprig tattoo on the forearm

Botanical · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A sprig of flowers and leaves runs diagonally up the arm, with a bloom in the centre and several buds and pale petals around it. The linework is fine and dark, with soft grey shading giving the petals and leaves volume. Muted green tones fill the leaves, while the flowers stay mostly pale grey against a plain skin background and knitted fabric.

Botanical Forearm Flower Leaves Sprig Bloom Bud Petal Plant

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Tom, the pass has been shut for four days now and the snow has climbed past the sill of the back kitchen door. I am writing at the long table with the lamp turned up, because the post cart will not come before Thursday, if it comes at all. Mr Pell, who has been lodging here since Michaelmas to sketch the ridge, set off on foot before dawn. He must have been mad. He left his folio on the settle, though, and I have spent the morning turning its pages instead of doing the bread.

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Everything in it is plants. Foxglove, bramble, a whole sheet of sorrel in grey pencil, the roots drawn as carefully as the leaves. On the last page there is a sprig of laurel, its flowers pale as cold milk, each cup holding ten small pockets where the stamens sit folded like they are waiting to be let out. He washed the leaves in green and left the blooms almost bare, as if he wanted them to look like frost on paper. Father always said laurel was poison in every part, and that the goats were never to be let near it. I could not tell you why that page made me sit down on the settle and forget the dough.

I have decided I will not post the folio until I have read every word he wrote in the margins. Some of them are only the names of the birds that came to the feeder, but one says Keep the window jar filled, the light up here is better for it. So I have put the laurel sheet in the window, propped against the jar where the snowdrops were, and the sun came round the ridge at noon and lit the paper until it glowed.

When the thaw comes I will send it on to Dunmore with a note. Tell him the innkeeper kept his laurel in the window, and that it is still there.