Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Pastel tree tattoo on the ankle
Fine line · Ankle · Colour · Photo
A small tree sits on the inner ankle, drawn with a fine dark outline and a loose canopy of soft yellow, orange and blue wash, with scattered dots around the crown. Below the trunk, a line suggests ground, and the digits 565886 are written in thin black script. The colour is pale and blended while the linework stays crisp, and the photo is taken close up against a dark background.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
Dear Ruth,
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The crate stencilled 565886 came up from the hold yesterday, and the bosun swore it had been dropped twice between Lagos and here. I prised the lid off on the foredeck with the wind tearing at my notes, and found the seedlings packed in wet moss, every one still green at the root. You will laugh, but I sat down on a coil of rope and did not get up for a quarter of an hour. Nobody warned me that the man who gathered them had sketched the tree in pencil on the lid, with a line for the ground beneath it and the number written underneath like a signature.
The captain wants the crate landed at the Cape to lighten the load, and the agents in London have already written to say the garden at Penzance will take the whole consignment only if it arrives alive. I have spent two nights with a lamp and a jar of water, counting. Forty-one shoots, and a few more I cannot yet be sure of. The yellow and orange of the crown are not in them yet, of course. They are only pale stems and two leaves folded like hands. Still, when I hold the jar up to the lamp I can see where the colour will go.
The dots on the sketch worried me until this morning. They are seeds, I think, drawn as the wind would carry them, and the gatherer knew that a tree is mostly a way of scattering itself. So I have kept three of the strongest shoots back from the agents, wrapped in my spare shirt, and I mean to put them in the soil at the lighthouse when we raise the island. Nobody will ask me to account for them. I will write to you again from there, with the number on the envelope so the postmaster knows which tree I mean.
Your brother, Tom
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