A botanical sprig of flowers and a bud tattooed on the top of a foot, glowing blue under ultraviolet light, placed near the ankle.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Glowing UV flower sprig on a foot

Botanical · Ankle · Colour · Photo

A foot is shown under ultraviolet light, so the tattoo glows bright blue against the skin. It depicts a slender stem with a closed bud at the top and two larger flowers with five petals and inner detail, drawn with bold outlines and light internal shading. The composition runs diagonally from the upper left toward the lower right across the top of the foot, with the background mostly dark.

Botanical Ankle Flower Blossom Bud Stem Sprig Uv ink

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit down, the lot of you, and mind the lamp, because I'll not tell this twice and Jory has been waiting since Michaelmas to hear it properly. You know the bloom that comes off Skerrow Ledge in August. Blue as a gas ring, it lies on the water where the nets have been dragged, and the old men called it the sea's own lantern. My father said a boat that ran into it came home empty, and he lied about most things but not that.

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The year the Marigold went out short two hands, Ada Penhallow sat in the wheelhouse with her chart and a pencil. She'd drawn the bloom on the back of a tide table, a slim stem with a shut bud at the top and two open flowers down at the foot, every petal ruled in with care, because she said if you could draw a thing you could find it. Dan Rowe laughed at her. Then the fog came down thick as wet wool, and at three in the morning Dan went over the rail after a fouled warp and nobody saw him go.

What we saw was the water. A line of light ran off the port quarter, curling out through the murk, and at its end two great blooms opened and held. Ada stood at the rail with the tide table gripped in her fist and said, quite calm, that the bud was still shut, so he was not yet gone. We hauled the warp hand over hand, following that light, until a cold shape came up beneath it, coughing and cursing.

He never liked being told what he'd been saved by. Ada had the tide table printed at the chandler's, and the drawing hangs in the Ship Inn still, under glass by the fire. On a still night in August, if you lean over the quay and look down, you can see the stem of it running out under the dark, the bud kept shut, the two flowers keeping watch.