Colour tattoo of a pink lotus flower with purple and green shading and black script reading "This is it" across the top of a foot.

Pink lotus and "This is it" script on a foot

Botanical · Other · Colour · Photo

A pink lotus flower with layered petals and a yellow centre sits on the top of a foot, with black script reading "This is it" running diagonally beneath it. The petals use soft pink and purple shading with bold black outlines, and small green and dark stippled dots fill the background around the flower. The flower dominates the upper half of the frame, with the script balancing the lower right, against a plain carpet background.

Botanical Lettering Dotwork Other Lotus Flower Script Foot

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The tin had been under the stairs since my mother's last summer, wedged behind the Christmas decorations, and when I finally prised the lid off in March the seeds inside rattled like dried peas. Someone had written on the paper lining in her slanting pencil: this is it. I took that to mean the seeds, or perhaps the house, which was going to a man from Peterborough who wanted the fen drained for potatoes by the end of the month.

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Mr Pargeter at the chemist said lotus seeds would keep for ever if they were dry enough, and that some from old Chinese gardens had come up after a thousand years in the mud. I had no mud, only the zinc bath in the wash-house and a jar of rainwater. I filed each seed with a nail file, as he had shown me, and set them in a pickle jar on the windowsill beside the wireless, which hummed the cricket scores at me while I waited.

Nothing happened for eleven days. On the twelfth a pale green shoot pushed up through the water like a question nobody had asked, and by June there was a leaf the size of a dinner plate floating in the bath. I rang the agent to say the house would not be empty after all. He said that was a shame, and I told him it was not my shame to carry.

The bloom came on the last Tuesday of June, pink at the rim and paler at the heart, opening a little more each morning while the mist lay along the lane. I sat on the back step with my bare feet in the cold zinc, and at last I understood what she had meant. It was not a warning. Mrs Dunning from over the road brought round a jam tart and asked what the bath was for. I told her it was for waiting, and that I had finished.