Fine line green four-leaf clover tattoo with curling vine swirls and small dots on the ankle.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Four-leaf clover with swirls on an ankle

Fine line · Ankle · Colour · Photo

A green four-leaf clover sits on the ankle, with thin curling scrolls and small dots spreading out from it. The linework is fine and even, and the leaves are filled with green, with yellow-green tones along the stems and a small leaf at the lower left. The plain skin and soft background keep the focus on the tattoo.

Fine line Botanical Ankle Four-leaf clover Clover Swirl Dot Vine Leaf

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The clover came up out of the hold in a crate of seed potatoes, three weeks out from Cobh, and you were the one who noticed it because you were the one sent down with the lamp. It had pushed through a split in the sacking, pale and bent toward the flame, four leaves on one stalk. Mr Garrity said it was a sign. The cook said it was a potato that had gone spare.

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You cut it free with the galley knife and carried it up in a tin cup of seawater, past the boatswain mending canvas and the boy who had not stopped crying since Madeira. Nobody aboard the Brightwater wanted the thing to die, which was odd, because nobody had wanted much of anything since the calm off the Horn. You set the cup on the sill of the officers' skylight, where the light came through green, and wrote the date on a strip of tallow paper.

The swirls came later, in your own hand, when the wind dropped for four days and there was nothing to do but watch the water. You traced the tendrils the clover had thrown out in the cup, curling them round the margins of your notebook, and the dots were the spray that never reached the deck. By the time the Brightwater raised the Sound, the cup held three new stalks and a leaf no bigger than a thumbnail, and you had stopped calling it luck.

When they unloaded at Port Chalmers, you carried the cup down the gangway yourself and set it on the quay, where a woman with a barrow looked at it and then at you. You told her it was clover, which was true. You did not tell her it had grown in the dark for a month with nobody planting it, and that you were not sure, even now, which of you had been the seed.