Black and grey botanical tattoo of a leafy branch with shaded leaves on the inner forearm, with partial script visible below it.

Leafy branch tattoo on a forearm

Botanical · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A close crop of a forearm showing a black and grey tattoo of a slender branch with several shaded leaves, drawn with fine outlines and soft grey tonal shading. Partial script sits lower on the arm but is cut off by the frame. The background is a white printed t-shirt with line drawings of hands, which sits behind the arm and does not form part of the tattoo.

Botanical Forearm Leaves Branch Botanical Foliage Script

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lorry had sunk to its hubs in the water meadow outside Stowmarket, and by the third morning you had given up pretending the rain would ease. Your father stood under the awning of the hook-a-duck stall with a mug going cold in his hand, counting coils of rope as if they might multiply while he wasn't looking. Somewhere behind the dodgem cars the generator coughed and died again.

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Among the crates was the apple-wood cutting Mags had carried out of the orchard at Hadleigh, a slender branch standing in a jam jar of rainwater. Its leaves were shaded dark on one side, the way she had shaded them with a soft pencil on the back of a raffle ticket, showing you where the light never reached. She had given it to you the winter her knees gave out. A fair needs one living thing, she said, that doesn't need an audience.

By the Sunday the ground had firmed enough for the tractor. Gil hitched the lorry, the Waltzer lights came on one bulb at a time, and you walked the cutting out to the gate and pressed its roots into a tin of wet earth from the field. It'll not take, Gil said. Cut wood never does on the road. You set it on the step of the ticket booth anyway.

Next April a boy with chalk on his fingers came to the booth and asked whose tree was growing in the tin. Nobody remembered putting it there. The leaves had come through in the dark, one row at a time, and they hung over the gate as though they had been waiting all winter for the fair to come back.