Small black fine line palm tree tattoo on the shoulder of a person seen from behind, with long wavy hair falling beside it.

Palm tree on a shoulder

Fine line · Shoulder · Black and grey · Photo

The photograph shows the bare back and shoulder of a person with long, wavy, blonde-streaked brown hair falling over one side. A single small palm tree is tattooed on the shoulder, with a thin curved trunk and a fan of simple fronds drawn in fine black lines. The tattoo is in black ink against a soft, muted background, with the shoulder and hair filling most of the frame.

Fine line Shoulder Palm tree Palm Tree Hair

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The tin turned up on the 4.12 bench on a wet Tuesday, a biscuit tin with a luggage label knotted to its handle. Ada Trewin, who worked the ticket hatch at Carnick Road, read the label twice before she opened the lid. Inside, wrapped in newspaper gone soft from the damp, was a palm seedling no taller than a pencil. The newsprint was Portuguese, and the label said only: For whoever is kind to plants.

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She put it on the sill of the booking hall, where the radiator kept the draughts off. Porter Dunstan said it would be dead by February. It wasn't. By March it had three fans of pale green leaves, and Ada began carrying it out to the platform on Thursdays, when the sun reached the bench and nobody was waiting for the branch train but the gulls.

In April a man in a grey wool coat came to the hatch asking after a tin. He said his name was Tom Varley and that he'd carried the palm from a balcony in Funchal, meaning to give it to his sister in Penzance, though she had since moved inland to Bodmin and wouldn't have it. He had put the label on the handle and set the tin down, and then he had lost his nerve about leaving it. Ada looked at him for a long moment before she reached under the counter.

He took the train to Bodmin that afternoon with the palm wrapped in the same Portuguese newspaper and balanced on his knees. Through the carriage window Ada saw him set it on the sill, where the sun could find it. Its newest frond was only just unrolling, a pale green curl pressed against the glass, and she stood on the platform until the train was a smudge on the cutting, still holding the empty tin.