Two forearms with small fine line botanical tattoos of wildflowers and stems, held beside real pressed flowers in open palms.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Pressed wildflower tattoos on two forearms

Botanical · Forearm · Colour · Photo

Two forearms show small botanical tattoos of wildflowers and thin stems, with yellow, purple and blue ink. In each open palm sits a real pressed flower, a daisy in one hand and small dried blooms in the other, which echo the designs on the skin. Soft, muted lighting and a shallow focus give the photo a warm, natural feel.

Botanical Fine line Forearm Flower Wildflower Daisy Stem Bloom

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The windfall apples were already soft in the grass when Maud Hollin knelt to lift the daisies from between the pages of her mother's book. Her son Tam stood over her with his hands in his pockets, asking why she bothered pressing flowers from the wrong side of the orchard wall when there were perfectly good ones on their own side.

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"Because a flower pressed in the field keeps the day it was picked," she said. "Press enough of them and you can always find your way back to that day." She had pressed one for every late summer since her own mother had taught her, and each one was a page of weather and wasps and the particular gold of the light before rain. When Tam went down to the coast that autumn to work on the boats, she gave him a daisy and three small blue blooms wrapped in a handkerchief. "Hold these when you forget the road," she told him. "They'll remember it for you."

He did not write. The orchard was a grey stubble of old trees when he came back, eleven winters later, and the gate had lost its paint. Maud was sitting on the bench under the last pear, the book open on her knee. He opened his palm and found the flowers were brittle, yellow at the edges, exactly as she had made them. Then she turned the book toward him, and in the margin of the page for that year she had pressed a fresh daisy beside a small blue bloom, and written beneath them, in her careful hand, *Tam, still coming.*

He sat down beside her and the wasps drifted over the windfalls. Neither of them said anything for a long while, which was how the Hollins had always forgiven each other.