Colour neo-traditional tattoo of a blue owl with orange and purple flowers on the top of a foot.

Owl and flowers on the top of a foot

Neo-trad · Other · Colour · Photo

A cartoon-style owl with a blue-grey feathered head, wide yellow-ringed eyes and a small orange beak sits at the centre of the design. It is surrounded by orange, yellow and purple flowers, green leaves and a spiky purple crest, all outlined in bold black linework with solid, flat colour fills. The tattoo covers the top of a pale foot and toes, photographed against a dark wooden background.

Neo-trad Other Owl Flower Leaves Bird Floral

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Gordon had been perched on the trophy cabinet since half past six, and he did not intend to move until somebody apologised to him. The reunion was in the old assembly hall, where the parquet still smelled of floor polish and the gym mats had been stacked against the piano like sleeping cats. Nobody had apologised. Dennis Ferris had shown everyone his new hip, Carol Mabbott had cried over the netball team photograph, and still the owl stared down at the room with his wide yellow rings, deeply unimpressed.

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The owl was older than most of the people in it. Mr Abbott, the groundsman, had stitched him from a blue jumper a dinner lady had given up for lost, and he had watched over sports day, detention and the great fire in the chemistry lab, after which the flowers along the car park wall were scorched black and replanted the following spring by children with plastic trowels. Janet Oddie had kept him in a drawer for thirty years. She had very nearly left him in the removals van.

At nine o'clock she was asked to say a few words. She climbed onto a chair, lifted Gordon down, and found that one side of his crest had come unpicked. Folded small underneath was a note in biro: Rooted, not just planted. Whoever wrote it had been eleven, and Janet could not for the life of her remember who. She read it aloud anyway.

The hall went quiet. Carol stopped sniffing. Dennis, for once, left his phone in his pocket. Janet tucked the owl under her arm and looked up at the high windows, where the real flowerbeds were coming into bloom, orange and purple against the brick, and she could have sworn Gordon had turned his head to look at them too.