Two wrists side by side: a grey botanical wildflower tattoo on one inner wrist and a soft pink cherry blossom tattoo on the other.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Grey wildflowers and pink blossom on wrists

Botanical · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

Two wrists are pressed together, each showing a floral tattoo. The upper wrist has grey and black wildflower stems with drooping blooms and fine shaded petals. The lower wrist has pink and magenta cherry blossom sprigs with small buds, in soft, blended colour against a patterned blue and white fabric.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mother Hesketh kept the seed drawer locked in the cloth house at Lowmere, where the indigo vats steamed and the ferry bell rang across the flats. Every late summer the grey wildflowers went to seed along the dyke, and every late summer she sent her younger daughter Ida down with a linen apron to gather the drooping heads before the wind could take them.

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Ida's friend Marta came up from the orchard above the mill with a jar of cherry sprigs, pink as a cut lip, because blossom never lasted past a week once picked. They sat on the blue and white counterpane laid over the drying frame and made their bargain. Each pressed the inside of her wrist to the other's, and they swore that one seed would be returned for one bloom, and that neither would ever keep the other's share. The skin stung and then stopped stinging, and the bargain was done.

In March the flood came in over the flats and the ferry did not run for nine days. Ida's dyke went under, and the grey seed in the drawer turned to a black paste that smelled of river mud. Marta rowed out on the tenth morning with the last bud she had kept alive, wrapped in wet linen against her breast, and found Ida on the cloth house roof with her mother's shears in her lap, too proud to ask for help and too frightened to say so.

They planted what they could that spring in the silt. The cherry bud opened in a bed of muddy stones, and beside it, through the grey layer the water had left, the wildflower stems came up thin and stubborn. Neither plant had won. Mother Hesketh walked the dyke each evening and counted the stems, and she never once asked which of the two girls had kept the bargain.

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