Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Open rose line drawing with leaves
Botanical · Black and grey · Flash
A single open rose is drawn in black outline, with the petals curling inward around a small centre. Several pointed leaves with serrated edges extend from the stem at the lower left and right. The drawing uses only thin, uniform linework with no shading or fill, on a plain white background.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The wasps had got into the windfalls again by the time Dad finished the second row of Bramleys, and he swore at them in the even voice he kept for weather and tax. I was sent along the south wall with the secateurs to take the dead wood off an old climber nobody had planted on purpose. It had come up through the boundary stones years ago, a rose gone wild, and it had decided on its own that the sunny face of the wall was worth the fight.
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The bloom that year was late, the last open head of the season, cupped so tightly at the middle that the petals seemed to be holding something back in a closed hand. I cut the spent canes below it, one after another, and each cut smelt of green sap and bruised leaf. The serrated leaves at the base had gone dark at their edges, the way they do when the nights turn. Dad came round the end of the row with the barrow and stopped to look, which he did not often do with anything that wasn't fruit.
"Leave that one," he said. "Your gran trained that up the wall the summer before she went into the home." I had not known. I had assumed the rose was just one more thing the orchard had grown without asking. He tipped a windfall into the barrow, then another, and the wasps lifted in a loose, complaining cloud and settled back on the fruit.
I left the open rose standing, its petals curling in on themselves like a letter folded twice, and carried the cut canes down to the bonfire heap. When I looked back from the gate, it was the only thing in the whole orchard still turned towards the light.
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