Hand-drawn traditional-style tattoo design of a white Om symbol set in a black circle, filled with red roses and green leaves.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Om symbol in a circle with red roses

Traditional · Mixed · Flash

A hand-drawn tattoo design on white paper shows a black circle with a white Om-style symbol cut out of its upper part. Red roses with white highlights and green leaves fill the lower and right sides of the circle, outlined in bold black linework. A black pen lies across the top left corner of the frame.

Traditional Rose Om symbol Leaves Circle Design

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The snow had sealed the Greywether road by the third day, and Nell Harrow had stopped counting guests. There were six of them now, crowded round the taproom fire with wet boots steaming on the fender, and a seventh, the carrier's boy, asleep under the settle with his cap over his face. Nell wiped the bar and watched the round sign above the door rock on its iron hook each time the wind found the gap under the lintel.

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Her grandmother had been a travelling sign-painter, and she had never painted a plain thing if a flower would do. The sign was a black disc with a white curl of the old sacred syllable cut from its top, the way a moon is cut by cloud, and the rest of the disc was crowded with red roses, their petals edged in white lead and their leaves a green so dark it looked wet. Nell's mother had called it a blessing for the house. Nell had always thought it looked like a door someone had painted over a window.

A man came in at dusk, shaking snow from a coat that had once been good, and asked for a room and a candle. He gave no name. He sat by the fire turning a fountain pen over and over in his fingers, uncapping it, capping it, as if it were a clock he could not trust. When Nell brought his tea he looked up at the sign and said, quite quietly, that he had seen the same roses painted on a fishing smack in Whitby, and that the painter had left the harbour owing money to half the town.

Nell did not ask him what he meant. In the morning the wind dropped and the sky went the colour of pewter, and when the stranger came down with his bag she found the pen left on the bar, uncapped, with a single rose drawn in its ink on the back of his bill. She stood the pen in the jar with the others and went out to shovel the step. Behind her the sign turned slowly on its hook, the roses catching the first thin light.