Black and grey botanical tattoo of lavender sprigs with a soft lilac wash behind, on the inner forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Lavender sprigs on a forearm

Botanical · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A tall lavender stem with several flower spikes rises up the forearm, with narrow leaves branching out to the sides and a smaller sprig lower down. Fine outlines and stippled shading define the flowers and leaves, while faint circular washes in grey and pale purple sit behind the stems. The palette is mostly black and grey with a light lilac tint, and the design is centred vertically along the arm.

Botanical Fine line Forearm Lavender Flower Sprig Leaves Stem Moon Wash

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Tullia, the lavender on the south slope came into flower three days early, which Gaius says is the gods' way of telling us the wine will be thin this year. I have cut the first bundles and hung them in the drying shed, heads down, so the oil stays in the flowers rather than running out of them. Your cough would have liked the smell in there. It is like standing inside a bell that someone has rung very softly.

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The old woman who sold us the still at Massilia taught me to gather before the sun is high, when the dew has gone and the oil is thickest. So I went up the path at the last hour of light with the basket on my hip, and the moon was already over the ridge, nearly full, pale as a coin left out in the rain. Its reflection lay in the cistern below the terraces, and I stood there longer than I should have, thinking of the shepherd who drowned there in spring.

Here is the strange part. When I bent to take the last spike near the wall, a grey hare was sitting in the furrow with its ears flat, watching me the way Father used to watch a new customer. I said nothing. I cut the stem, laid it in the basket, and when I looked up it had gone, leaving only the moon and a smell of crushed leaves on my fingers.

I have tucked one sprig into the fold of this letter so you will know which field I mean. Bring the mule when the fever breaks, and do not let Gaius tell you the moon is bad luck for picking. It was the best hour I have spent in this valley. Write back soon, and tell me whether the hare was real or only the wine talking.