Black and grey pine tree tattoo in fine line botanical style on the inner forearm of a person wearing denim shorts and a dark top.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Pine tree on a forearm

Botanical · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A tall, narrow pine tree is tattooed along the forearm, with a straight trunk and tiered branches drawn in fine, sketchy linework. The needles are suggested with fine stippling and short strokes, and the tree is shaded in black and grey ink. The photograph is taken from a low angle against a plain, dark brown background, with the hand relaxed and the tattoo as the main focus.

Botanical Fine line Forearm Pine tree Tree Conifer

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The pine at Carrow Halt had been there longer than the platform, and the old men said it had stood before the line was laid, when the valley was only sheep and a path. It grew where the down platform met the footbridge, straight as a plumb line, with its branches set in tiers like shelves in a dresser. Nell Harrow sold tickets beneath it for eleven years and never once had to sweep a needle off the boards, because the tree dropped nothing on them but shade.

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On Thursdays a man called Abel Quint came off the early train with a tin of pencils and a sketchbook. He bought a single ticket to the next station up the line, never used it, and sat on the bench to draw the pine. He worked slowly, the way you would write to someone who might not reply. First the trunk, black at the base where the bark had split, then the branches in their careful tiers, then the needles, which he suggested with short strokes and tiny dots of shadow, as if the wind had only just stopped.

One Thursday in October he did not come. A letter came instead from the company, with a plan for a goods siding that ran straight through the pine's roots. Nell took Abel's sketchbook up to the line office on her half-day and laid the drawings across the foreman's desk, one after another, until he stopped looking at the plan and started looking at the trees. Abel had drawn the pine forty-one times that year, each sketch a little thinner than the last, as though the tree were leaving the valley and he wanted a record of its going.

The siding was laid the next spring, bent in a wide curve around the pine. The foreman pinned Abel's best sheet above the signal box, and Nell still works the ticket window beneath it. When the morning train slows to round the bend, she can see the tip of the tree through the glass, dark against the hill, and she has never known whether the driver is watching the track or the tree.