Small fine line tattoo of a black pine tree inside a thin circle with green watercolour wash, on the inner forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Pine tree in a green watercolour circle on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A small black silhouette of a conifer tree stands within a thin black circle on the inner forearm. Behind the tree, soft green and yellow watercolour washes fill the circle and spill slightly past its edge. The tree is centred on a plain, lightly lit background, with the ink crisp and the colour softly blended.

Fine line Forearm Pine tree Tree Conifer Circle Watercolour

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mind the third step, the one with the crack, and keep your lantern low, because the brothers swear the damp gets into these stones and they never sit true again. There. Now sit by the fire and I will tell you about Brother Anselm and the pine, the only thing in this valley that ever out-argued the abbot.

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Anselm came up the pass the spring the chapter roof fell in, carrying a seedling wrapped in wet sacking and a tin of pigments he had bought off a dyer in Thessaly for an illumination he never finished. He set the sapling inside the ring of low wall behind the kitchen, where nobody would trouble it, and every evening he sat with his back against the stones and washed the sky around it in green and yellow, so that the brothers could not tell whether he was painting the tree or the light that fell through it.

The rain got into the tins that winter. The greens bled past the lines he had ruled, out over the edge of the wall and onto the frost, and the abbot scolded him for spoiling good vellum. Anselm only shrugged and said the tree had never once kept to its border, and he was not going to start teaching it manners now.

The pine grew through the wall by the third summer. Brother Anselm did not cut it. He knocked a gap in the stones with a borrowed mallet, and when the abbot came out to see what the noise was, the old man was standing in the gap with his palm flat on the bark, looking down at the valley as the bell rang vespers. The tree stood black against the green evening, and the wash of colour kept spreading past the edge of everything he had tried to hold.