Close view of a small black fine line palm tree tattoo on the upper arm of a woman with long wavy brown hair, seen from behind.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small palm tree tattoo on an upper arm

Fine line · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A woman is seen from behind, with long wavy brown hair and a white top with a black bra strap visible. A small palm tree is tattooed on the upper arm, drawn in thin black linework with a slender curved trunk and a simple fronded crown. The background is soft and light, and the tattoo is the clear focal point in the composition.

Fine line Botanical Upper arm Palm tree

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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

Pass me the lamp, Tomasz, and mind the step, it's slick where the gulls have been at it. Now, you asked me why Mrs Ferrier's boy never came back from the Tuesday run, and I'll tell you, but you must sit still for it, because the sea doesn't like to be hurried.

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There was a palm on the windowsill of the net loft in Porthleven, a thing somebody's aunt had carried home from Lisbon in a tin bucket. Everyone said it would never take the salt air. It didn't die, though. It leaned, the way a thing does when it's reaching for a window it can't quite get to. Ferrier's boy used to sit under it mending twine and say it looked like a question mark somebody had forgotten to finish.

The night he went out, the wind came round to the south-west and stayed there, and the harbour bell rang itself hoarse. His mother stood at the sea wall with her hand flat against her chest as if to keep something in. Then in the morning the boat came in, half-swamped and singing, with the boy grinning on the bow like he'd rowed the whole Atlantic himself. He had a wet charcoal stick in his pocket and a drawing of a tree on the back of a chart, the trunk thin as a hair, fronds swept up as though it had been bent by the very wind that tried to drown them.

He went to the tattooist on the quay the next week and had it put on his arm, small enough to hide under a sleeve. Nobody on the wall could ever decide if it was a brave thing or a foolish one, and the boy never said. But every time the south-west came up, he'd turn his arm to the light and grin at it like an old friend who'd kept his promise.