Soft pink rose tattoo with green sepals on the upper back near the neckline, in a botanical realism style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Pink rose on the upper back near the neck

Botanical · Back · Colour · Photo

A pink rose with layered petals and a small bud or leaf detail sits on the upper back, close to the neck and above the shoulder blade. The linework is soft and the shading is blended, with pale wash-like edges around the petals. Pink tones dominate, with touches of green on the sepals and stem, and the rose is centred on a plain skin background with a grey top and dark hair at the edge of the frame.

Botanical Realism Back Rose Flower Petal Leaves

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The rose was the only thing on Skerray that the wind didn't bend, or so my mother claimed, though she said that about everything she planted. I was nine the spring she gave me a cutting wrapped in wet newspaper from the mainland boat, and I carried it up the hill as if it were a lamp that might go out.

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Nothing on the island grew tall. The turnips stayed the size of fists, and the gorse leaned east like a crowd turned to watch a fight. Father built a wall of driftwood and old window sashes around the bed, and every night I checked the glass for cracks and the sky for weather. The rose put out three leaves, then a red-green bud no bigger than my thumbnail, then nothing at all for so long that I stopped looking at it.

In June the wind came round from the north and stayed for eleven days. The sashes rattled until I couldn't sleep. On the twelfth morning I went out in my nightdress and found the frame flattened and the glass gone to the heather, but the stem was whole, tucked low against the stones where the gale couldn't reach it. Three petals had opened in the night, layered and pale at their edges like breath on a cold window, deepening to rose at the heart.

I didn't tell my mother. I cut the bloom with the kitchen scissors, set it in a jam jar of seawater on the sill, and left the wall where it had fallen. The petals held four days indoors before they dropped, and I cried over the mess. After that Father stopped building walls, and the rose came back every June, stubborn as the gorse.