Black and grey fine line tattoo of a tall pine tree with a slim trunk, on the inner forearm of a person wearing a white t-shirt.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Pine tree on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A single tall pine or fir tree with a slender trunk and tiered, feathery branches is tattooed on the forearm. The tree is drawn with fine, dark linework and light stippled shading, with the crown tapering to a point at the top. The photograph is black and white, with a brick wall and a white t-shirt sleeve behind the arm, and the tattoo sits centrally in the frame.

Fine line Botanical Forearm Pine tree Conifer Tree Trunk Branches

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Tomasz,

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The fir went in on Tuesday, and I held the ladder while Mr Okafor's lad tied it to the stake. You would have laughed at me, up there with my boots in the mud, giving orders to a tree that cannot hear a word. Dad always said the tallest thing in a garden should be one you had to plant twice. This is the second go. The first was snapped by the March gales, and I have decided that is the weather's business, not ours.

The nursery sent it bare-rooted in a sack, all grey whorls and no sense of itself. Mr Okafor said to leave the crown alone for a year, so I did, though I confess I spent most evenings walking round it with a torch, counting the tiers. There are nine. Each one is a little narrower than the last, and the needles hang off the branches in a feathery fringe that the wind combs one way and then the other. From the kitchen window at dusk it stops being a tree and becomes a pencil line drawn up into the dark, the point the only part still catching the last of the light.

Yesterday I found Dad's tin under the potting bench, the one with the broken hinge. Inside were his seed packets, dated 1987, and a folded sketch of a fir in biro with a note beside the crown: start the point thin, let it go. I had always thought he gave up on trees after the orchard failed. Apparently not. I have stuck the drawing to the back door with a clothes peg, where I can see it every time I go out.

Come at Easter and bring the good secateurs. I want you to see it stand up on its own before the frost.

Your loving sister, Hana