Colour botanical tattoo of blue forget-me-not flowers with yellow centres on a fine black vine, running from the ankle across the top of a foot.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Forget-me-not vine across ankle and foot

Botanical · Ankle · Colour · Photo

The tattoo shows clusters of blue forget-me-not flowers with small yellow centres, joined by a thin dark vine that curls from the ankle down across the top of the foot towards the toes. The flowers are shaded with lighter and darker blues, while the vine is fine black linework. The composition follows the curve of the foot against a dark background.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mind the step, love, it's still slick from the flour sacks. Come and sit by the oven, where the bricks hold heat longer than any of us. Ada Pell ran this bakehouse on Wick Lane for forty years, and she had one rule chalked above the proving trough: nobody touches the dough before St Oswin's strikes five.

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Her apprentice, a long-armed lad called Tom Rudd, broke that rule every morning for a whole winter. He wasn't stealing bread. He let himself in by the yard gate at half four, where the milk girl Nell left her pails, and he shaped small loaves scored with a twisting pattern, a vine that ran from the top of the dough down to the tin. Between the twists he pressed tiny blue flowers he'd picked from the wall by the well, each with a dab of yellow sugar at its heart. Nell told him they were called forget-me-nots, and that they were the only flowers in Wick Lane that didn't need anyone to water them.

Ada found the trays on the sixth morning. She stood a long time with her shawl pulled tight, turning one loaf over in her floury hands, and she said nothing at all. Then she carried it to the sill facing the lane, where the first customers would see it before they saw her.

Nell came for her milk that Saturday and bought the lot. Tom never did learn whether Ada had been thinking of him or of the girl, and nobody asked. By the time the bells finished striking, the vine loaf had gone down Wick Lane tucked in a girl's apron, and the blue flowers pressed into the crust were still warm when she reached the corner.

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