Black and white photo of a person's legs with black silhouette pine trees tattooed from the thigh down to the calf, in a botanical style.

Pine tree silhouettes on both legs

Botanical · Thigh · Black and grey · Photo

The photo shows a person standing in a short skirt and laced boots, with a tall, tapering pine tree silhouette tattooed on each leg. The left tree runs from the upper thigh down towards the boot, and the right tree rises from the knee to the calf. The ink is solid black with soft tonal variation in the foliage, and the image is in black and white against a pale sofa background.

Botanical Thigh Calf Pine tree Tree Forest Silhouette Leg Boot

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The mill at Harl stopped for the first time in forty years the week Tam Greer cut into the last log of the old laird's stand and found one ring too many. He counted it twice, his thumb moving over the grain, and then he put down his saw and walked up to the post office to tell Ada Kell that the trees on the ridge had been keeping a tally.

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Ada was the postmistress's daughter and had the best hand in the village. She took a pencil, a tin of lamp oil and the survey ledger her father had left in the shop, and she climbed the ridge path in the grey before the frost lifted. The Scots pines stood in their ranks as they had for two hundred years, but every time she looked away and back, one of them had edged a little nearer the track, until the track was gone and she was walking between trunks that leaned in to listen.

At the oldest tree, split to the heart by some storm no one remembered, a voice like sap moving asked her for the number. Ada had not come to count them for the laird. She had come to count them for herself. She gave the true figure, two hundred and twelve, and wrote it in the ledger beside her own name, and the trees stepped back into their places and let her down.

That evening the saw ran again at Harl. Ada walked home with dark resin on the hem of her skirt and the lamp oil still unopened in her pocket. When she looked down the street at dusk, every window in the village held a pine silhouette against the lamplight, tall and tapering, and every one of them was keeping count.