Colour botanical tattoo of a red rose with buds, green leaves and small red berries on a woman's shoulder, shown from behind in a white vest top.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Red rose sprig on a shoulder

Botanical · Shoulder · Colour · Photo

A sprig of red roses, several closed buds, green leaves and small clusters of orange berries rises diagonally across the top of the shoulder. The rose and buds are rendered with soft shading and highlights, while the leaves and stems use layered greens. The photograph is taken from behind, with the subject's shoulder and upper back filling the frame against a plain light background.

Botanical Shoulder Rose Rose bud Leaves Berry Sprig Flower

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The oven had been lit since three, and old Mother Pennock still had not decided whether to trust the sprig of roses on her flour bin. Her grandson had cut it from the hedge behind the chapel: three pink blooms, a few buds still shut tight, and clusters of orange berries tangled among the green leaves. Roses in the back end of January, she said, and nobody in Lower Cobb had seen one since the frost of the bad year. She did not care for the look of it, but she did not throw it out either.

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Before the bells rang six, a woman came to the back door without a coat and asked for a loaf on credit. Bread was never on credit in that bakery, and Mother Pennock told her so, then wrapped one anyway, still warm from the tray. The woman tucked a berry into the folds of the paper and walked off down the wet lane toward the river. When the grandson turned back from the sink, the buds on the bin had opened, one after another, as though someone had breathed on them.

He laughed and said it was only the heat of the ovens. Mother Pennock did not argue. She went to the cupboard and found the loaf she had set aside for herself had turned as light as paper, and its crumb smelled of roses. She cut it anyway and ate it standing by the window, watching the lane go grey.

At dusk the woman came back. Where the coins should have been there was only the grandson's chipped cup, full of rose hips. She left a fresh sprig on the step beside it. In the morning there was one bud on the flour bin, still shut tight, waiting for the next cold day.