Back of a person in a black sports bra with a small black fine line pine tree tattoo centred on the lower back.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Pine tree on the lower back

Fine line · Back · Black and grey · Photo

A small pine tree sits centred on the lower back, with a tall, tapering crown of layered branches above a few thin vertical lines that suggest trunks or roots. The linework is fine and slightly sketchy, with soft grey shading in the foliage. The tattoo is black on a plain pale background, with the subject's back and a black racerback sports bra filling most of the frame.

Fine line Botanical Back Pine tree Tree Conifer

Find an artist for this

Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit yourselves down, the lot of you, and keep your elbows off the marmalade. Mrs Pargeter says there'll be no supper until I've finished, so I'll be quick, though I never once was in my life. Up on Gannet Head, above Scarrow Bay, there's a pine tree that shouldn't be there at all. The salt wind comes off the sea so hard it strips the paint from the lighthouse rail, and still that tree stands, tall and narrow, its branches stacked one over the next like the tiers of a wedding cake somebody left out in the rain.

Keep reading

Nobody planted it on purpose. Ada Venn, the keeper's widow, carried a seedling up from the forestry cart in her husband's old sea boot, meaning to put it in the garden behind the cottage. The boot split on the cliff path and the sapling went down into a crack in the rock, where nothing else would take root. She swore at it for a week. Then she swore at the storms for twenty years, and the tree kept growing, pushing its roots down through the stone in long thin lines you can still see if you climb up at low tide.

In the winter of nineteen-forty, the council men came with saws to clear the headland for a gun emplacement. Ada stood in front of the trunk with her hat pinned on and told them that if they wanted the pine they would have to take her with it. They looked at her, looked at the sky, and went back down the hill for their tea. The tree was still there in spring, and so was she, and between them they kept that lamp trimmed for another thirty years.

So mind the path tomorrow, it's slippery as a fishmonger's floor. And if the wind drops, put your ear to the trunk. Ada always said you could hear the sea going down through the roots, and that's the only sound the tree ever makes.