Black script reading Joie de Vivre sits above a small bouquet of pink roses and dark green leaves on the wrist, in a lettering and botanical style.

Joie de Vivre script and rose bouquet on wrist

Lettering · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A raised hand shows a black cursive script reading Joie de Vivre across the wrist. Below it, a small bouquet of pink roses, a red bloom, yellow buds and dark green leaves is shaded with soft tonal blending. The plain pale wall behind the hand keeps the focus on the tattoo.

Lettering Botanical Forearm Script Rose Flower Bouquet Leaves Bud

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The roses were still beaded from the cold room when Madeleine pressed the last bundle into my hands and told me the van to Lyon would not wait for either of us. So I am writing this on the back of a delivery slip, Odile, using your pencil, which you will want back before Thursday.

Keep reading

You will remember the sign over the shop. Your grandfather painted JOIE DE VIVRE across the glass the year the Saône flooded the cellar, and when the council sent a man to paint it over, Monsieur Carrat stood in the road with a broom and would not move. Nobody in the street agreed with him about much, but they agreed about that. Every Tuesday the widow from number nine came in for one pink stem, never two, and paid in coins she had counted out at her kitchen table.

On the third Tuesday of March she did not come. Madeleine went round with a bunch of the yellow buds wrapped in brown paper and found the shutters closed and a cat asleep on the step. The neighbour said the widow had gone to her daughter's in Dijon and had left a note for the florist saying only that the roses should go to whoever needed them most, and that the sign was to stay up.

So we gave the bunch to the boy with the bakery cart, the one whose mother has been ill since Christmas, and we took no money for it. Water the stems every morning, I told him, and do not let anyone paint over the glass. Madeleine says I am being sentimental. She is probably right, but the roses are on the boy's windowsill now, which is the only place I ever wanted them. Write when you reach Lyon, and mind the pencil.