Split landscape tree across a back
Realism · Back · Colour · Photo
A large back piece divides into two landscapes around a central tree. On the left, a blue night scene shows snowy mountains under an aurora, a pale moon, pine trees and a small cabin, while bare branches reach upward. On the right, a warm sunset glows behind a red sun over calm water, with blossoming branches, cattails and yellow flowers at the edge. The shading is soft and painterly, with the colour strongest in the orange and yellow sunset.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The ferry to the island only ran when the tide allowed, so Maren had learned to read the water the way her grandmother read the sky. That morning the lake on the eastern shore was flat as a dropped mirror, and on the far bank a single cabin sent up smoke into air so cold it hung in the reeds like wool. Her grandmother had built that cabin with her own hands the winter the aurora came down low over the peaks, and had sworn the tree behind it was older than the mountains. Maren had never believed a word of it until she saw the roots.
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The tree stood between the two countries of light, one half frosted and bare, the other heavy with pink blossom and the hum of bees. Its roots ran under both, which was the trouble. Every spring the blossom side drew the warmth up and every autumn the frost side took it back, and the tree itself refused to choose. Her grandmother used to say that a tree that split its own season in two was not being greedy, only honest about what it was carrying.
Maren reached the cabin as the red sun slid behind the mountain on the western side. She found the key where it had always been, under a flat stone shaped like a loaf, and inside a tin with a letter folded in four. It was not addressed to her. It was addressed to whoever came after the tree needed moving, and it said only: plant the cattails at the water's edge where the sunset reaches, and let the moon do the rest.
She went down to the shore with a bundle of reeds under one arm. The water was already turning from gold to slate, and somewhere behind her the aurora began to stir, green at the edges. She knelt, pressed the first reed into the mud, and watched the two colours meet on the surface and, for one long breath, agree.
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