Colour neo-traditional tattoo of peonies, anemone-style flowers and a moth across a person's upper arm and shoulder.

Peonies and moth on upper arm

Neo-trad · Shoulder · Colour · Photo

A tattoo of large peonies, smaller lilac flowers and leaves wraps over the shoulder and down the upper arm, with a brown and orange moth with outlined wings resting among the blooms. The linework is bold and dark, with soft shading in pinks, reds, greys and greens. The subject fills the right side of the frame, with the head cropped out and a blurred dark background behind.

Neo-trad Botanical Shoulder Upper arm Peony Moth Flower Leaves Anemone

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lamp above platform four had been drawing moths all night, and by half past four Dennis Quayle had stopped sweeping them off the glass. He sat on the bench with his flask and watched a big rust-coloured one knock itself against the lamp, patient as a clock, until the first peonies came rattling down the stairs on a trolley.

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Ivy Marsh pushed the trolley herself. She ran the flower stall by the ticket barrier and had been bringing her allotment blooms in since March, great heavy heads of pink and cream wrapped in wet newspaper. "There's one in the petals," she said, nodding at the bucket. "They always come in with the flowers. Every spring there's one hiding in the heads, and I end up carrying it halfway to Carlisle before I notice."

The moth had come off the lamp by then and was walking along the bench arm, wings folded like a shut ledger. Dennis cupped it in his palm, warm and dusty, and carried it to the buckets where the lilac anemones stood in cold water. He tipped his hand gently. The moth stayed put, took its time, then opened its wings the colour of marmalade and weak tea.

The 5:12 for Carlisle pulled in with its doors already steaming. Ivy hauled the last bucket aboard and waved from the vestibule. Dennis watched the train take its slow curve past the signal box, and when the last carriage lit gold in the grey, he could have sworn the moth was still on the glass, riding out with the flowers as if it had decided where they were going.