Black and white photo of a fine line palm tree tattoo on the side of a finger, with a hammered silver ring on another finger, resting on dark leather.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small palm tree on a finger

Fine line · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

A small palm tree with a dark, slightly feathered crown sits on the side of a finger, with a thin trunk curving down towards the knuckle. The linework is fine and the crown uses light shading, with the tattoo appearing sharp and well defined. The photograph is black and white, set against a dark leather surface, with a silver band ring on the adjacent finger.

Fine line Hand Palm tree Ring

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit closer, the lamp is nearly out and I won't waste the oil on a tale that needs no light. Forty-one days out of Bristol the Marigold was, carrying tin and a captain who kept his charts in a locked box under his bunk. Ellen Rook was the cabin boy then, twelve years old and sick over the rail every morning until the Azores, and she was the one who found the palm seed.

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It came out of the cook's bucket of ballast sand off the Cape Verde reach, a single brown nut as hard as a knuckle. The cook swore it had dropped from a parrot's cage on a passing barque, though he swore to most things after the rum. Ellen kept it in her shirt. She said the sea had given it to her and she meant to give it back to land.

Off the Gulf of Guinea the wind died for nine days. The water lay like hot pewter, and the captain lay in his cot reading his box aloud, every headland he had never seen. On the ninth night Ellen pressed the seed into wet sand inside a biscuit tin and set it on the sill, and by morning a green bruise of shoot was pushing through the grit.

They made Accra with the sprout no taller than a hand. Ellen went ashore to plant it on a hill that had no name on any chart, and she came back without it. When the captain asked, she said the hill had taken it the way a palm takes a gale, bending and keeping. That night he opened his box and drew a small crooked line in the margin of the chart, a trunk curving toward a coast not yet on any map.