Traditional style tattoo of a palm tree over a red sunset and sea, framed by teal leaves and red flowers, on a forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Palm tree sunset and flowers on a forearm

Traditional · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

The tattoo shows a palm tree silhouetted against a large pale sun setting over a calm blue sea, with red and grey cloud bands behind. Two red flowers with teal leaves frame the top and bottom, and a yellow shoreline sits at the lower right. Bold black outlines and flat, solid colour fill give it a classic traditional look, and the composition is centred and enclosed in a rounded shape.

Traditional Forearm Palm tree Sunset Sea Flower Leaves Sun Cloud Bird Sand

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The sun was the last thing Dilys meant to paint, and she was never satisfied with it. Forty years of salt off the Channel had lifted the colour from the beach hut at the end of Pell Row, so the palms had gone the grey of old string and the sea looked like a wrung-out dishcloth. Ronnie from the council had left a letter saying the board would be sanded back to bare wood by Friday. Dilys said she would do it herself first, so on a wet Tuesday in March she climbed the stepladder with a tin of red, a brush worn down to a nub, and a mug of tea she forgot to drink.

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She started with the cloud bands because they were easy and they forgave a shaky hand. Red, then a grey that Arthur used to call dishwater, laid in flat stripes like the pages of a ledger. The sun was harder. Arthur always said the old one looked like a pudding left out on the sill, so this time she mixed it pale, nearly white, and it sat on the horizon like a coin someone had dropped in the sea. She drew the palm with a steady line, fronds like tired fingers, and three gulls over the water, each one a small black V.

A boy from number nine came along the front with a bucket of mussels he was not supposed to have. He stood at the foot of the ladder and asked why the sun had no face. Dilys told him it didn't need one. It only had to turn up at the same time every evening and be looked at, which was more than most people managed. He thought about this, then asked whether the flowers were real. She said the hibiscus in the top corner was, in a way, because she had seen one once in a glasshouse in Torquay and never got over it.

By six the sun had gone down behind the real horizon, the way it always did, and the paint on the board was still tacky. Dilys left the door propped open so the wind could read it too. Ronnie could sand it in the morning if he liked. She had taken the tea home by then, cold, and it tasted of nothing but the sea.