Black and grey lotus tattoo with ornate detailed petals on the upper back between the shoulder blades, shown from behind.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Lotus tattoo between the shoulder blades

Botanical · Back · Black and grey · Photo

A woman is seen from behind, with her hair tied up, showing a large lotus flower tattoo centred between her shoulder blades. The petals and inner mandala-like centre are built from fine outlines, dense hatching and stippled texture, giving depth to the design. The tattoo is rendered entirely in black and grey ink against smooth, lightly lit skin, with the composition focused on the back and shoulders.

Botanical Dotwork Back Lotus Flower Mandala Ornament Back

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

12th January. Snow has lain on the Long Drove since Boxing Day, and the mere behind the top field has set hard as a slate. Father says the lotus will not come back this year, that the roots are dead under the silt, but I went down with the hay knife this morning anyway and broke the ice where the stems stood up like burnt pencils.

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The seed heads are still there. Each one is a grey cup with a flat crown, and the crown is pierced in rings, so that from above it looks like a window made of a hundred smaller windows. Uncle Tom sent the first root from Ceylon in a biscuit tin in 1931, wrapped in wet newspaper, and it took three summers to forgive us for the journey. I counted fourteen heads. When I cut one open the seeds rattled like dried peas, hard and brown and not one of them soft.

Mother came out with the lantern at dusk and stood at the gate with her arms folded, saying I would catch my death. I told her I was only looking at the pattern. She said the pattern was on the biscuit tin too, the same rings and the same petals, and I said that was not the same thing at all. She laughed, which she has not done since the letter came from the Admiralty, and then she made me come in before my fingers went white.

I have put seven seeds in the drawer with the good thimbles, one for each of us and one spare for Tom, should he ever come up the lane with his hat in his hand. In April I will press the last one into the mud at the edge of the mere, under the reeds, and see whether the ice has remembered what it was holding.