Overhead view of a seated person with hands on their knees, showing a Japanese-style red flower tattoo on one forearm and a black and grey cloud design on the other.

Japanese-style forearm tattoos seen from above

Japanese · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

An overhead photograph of a seated person in light blue ripped jeans, beige shoes and a peach top, with both hands resting on their knees. Both forearms carry tattoos: a red flower with dark linework on the left arm and a black and grey cloud or wave design on the right. The colour is mixed, with the red flower standing out against the greys, and the tattoos are shown clearly against a grey stone step.

Japanese Forearm Flower Rose Cloud Wave

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The wind came over the ridge the week the Harrow orchard was ready, and it brought a grey cloud with it, low and heavy as wet wool. Old Mab Tennant stood at the gate with her apron full of windfalls and said the cloud wanted the red fruit. Her son Edwin laughed at her, because clouds do not want anything.

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Edwin had the best trees in the valley. The quince by the well had flowered red in spring, and every bee for three miles had come to it. That late summer he would not sell a single pear to the travelling men, because the cloud had settled in the lower field and would not lift, and the grass beneath it went pale and cold.

On the ninth evening he went out with a ladder and a cloth, meaning to wipe the grey from the branches, and found the cloud sitting in the quince like a sleeping dog. It was not frightening. It asked him, in a voice like a stream under ice, for one red thing to carry home to its mother beyond the sea. The blossoms were long gone, so Edwin cut the last quince from the tree, the one he had been saving for the harvest fair, and set it in the cloud's grey palm.

The cloud went over the ridge and did not come back that autumn. The quince bore nothing, and Edwin went to the fair with empty baskets and felt foolish. But in spring the tree flowered red as it never had before, and the bees came from three miles off. Mab only shook her head over her walnuts and said that a cloud is a poor creditor, but it always pays in weather.