Two small gold palm tree designs on the calves of bare legs, photographed from behind on a sandy beach at sunset with a pineapple beside them.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Gold palm tree tattoos on calves

Fine line · Calf · Colour · Photo

Two small palm tree designs sit on the calves of a pair of bare legs, photographed from behind. Each design has a thin, simple outline with a slender trunk and a fan of fronds at the top, in a metallic gold finish. The composition places the legs against a pale sunset sky and a calm sea, with a pineapple on the sand to the left.

Fine line Botanical Calf Palm tree Palm Pineapple Beach Sea Sunset Leg

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Hettie, The crate of gold transfers came off the carrier on Tuesday, two days late and smelling of diesel. Mr Pell at the post office says the printer in Bristol ran short of gold ink and used a yellow that was never meant for skin, which I have decided is more honest than the real thing. There are forty sheets of palms with skinny trunks and fans like green feathers that someone has sneezed on. Every one has gone since Friday.

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Dorcas on the next cart sold her pineapples at three times the price and swore the sailors were buying them for their wives. Mostly they were buying the palms for the girls from the hotel, who wanted something to show their friends back in town. On Thursday one of them sat on the sea wall at sunset with her legs stretched out, and I pressed a palm onto each calf with a damp cloth while the sky went the colour of weak tea and then of peaches. She held still the way people do when they are trying not to giggle.

When she asked how long they would last, I told her until the sea got to them. That was a lie, and a kind one. The sea never touches anything above the tideline. It's the sun that takes them, a little each afternoon, until the gold goes thin and the outlines soften into nothing much. She laughed and said that suited her fine, and walked off down the sand with the pineapple tucked under her arm like a parcel.

This morning I walked the same stretch and found one of the sheets caught in the wrack, face down, its trunk gone pale in the wet. The tide had come up in the night and was already lifting the last of the sand, and when I bent to pick it up a gold flake drifted off the paper and settled on the water, bright for a moment, then gone. Hettie, I am sending you one of the spare sheets. Keep it out of the sun.