Colour tattoo of a pink plumeria flower with black and grey swirling vines and dots on the ankle, in a botanical style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Pink plumeria and swirls on an ankle

Botanical · Ankle · Mixed · Photo

A pink plumeria flower with purple shading sits at the centre of a design of black and grey swirling vines, curls and small dots. The vines have soft grey shading and a few tendrils trail down toward the top of the foot. The photograph shows the ankle against a plain skin-toned background with even lighting.

Botanical Ankle Plumeria Flower Swirl Vine Dot Tendril

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The cutting has gone soft at the base again, and you stand over the paraffin heater in the lean-to with the seed tray balanced on your hip, trying to decide whether it is kinder to let it go. Frost has furred the inside of the glass. Across the yard Ruan is breaking the skin on the water trough with the back of a spade, and the collie follows him round in circles, the way she does when she thinks something might be about to happen.

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The plumeria came in a fruit box from a woman at the Helston market who swore it would flower by the second summer. She had wrapped the cut end in damp kitchen roll and a plastic bag, and told you, with her hand flat on the box lid, that it would sulk for a month before it made up its mind. Plumerias, she said, do not like being asked twice. You put it on the sill above the boiler and forgot about it until October, when the leaves came back in pale green folds, each one curled tight as the scrolls on an iron gate.

Now you turn the pot to the lamp and scrape a thumbnail along the stem. Green underneath, which is the only answer that matters. You think about the rest of the winter, the feed bill, the lambing shed that needs a new roof before February, and the fact that nobody on this farm has ever once said the word holiday out loud. The frost on the glass is doing something similar, branching out from the corner of the frame where the warm air leaks in.

You write the date on a lolly stick in carpenter's pencil, push it into the compost, and go out to help Ruan with the trough. Behind you the plant keeps its pink flower folded shut inside the bud, and the frost keeps drawing its slow swirls over the glass, one more tendril every hour, as if it were the one doing the growing.