Colour traditional tattoo of a peony, pink and orange flowers and green leaves held in a hand with a red cuff, on a person's upper back.

Traditional flower bouquet held by a hand

Traditional · Back · Colour · Photo

A bold colour tattoo shows a large red peony at the centre of a bouquet, with pink and orange flowers, teal and green leaves and small red buds. The bouquet is held by a hand with red nail polish and a patterned red cuff at the bottom. Heavy black outlines and flat, solid fills give it a classic traditional look, and the design sits across the upper back below the shoulder blade.

Traditional Botanical Back Peony Flower Bouquet Leaves Hand Cuff Bud

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The peonies had started to drop their petals by the time the Mary Ann came round the bend at Wallingford, and Nell Acres stood on the cabin roof with the bucket hooked over one wrist, counting them the way her father had taught her to count lock gates. Seven red heads, three pink stars, and a handful of orange ones she had picked from the bank below Goring because they were the only thing blooming that wasn't nettle. Her red cuff, stitched from an old tram seat by her mother, rubbed against the handle and left a smear of dye on the wood.

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Her father had built the Mary Ann's wheelhouse with his own hands and had never once let anyone steer her in a crosswind. He was on the towpath now, leaning on the lock beam and watching her come in with the look he saved for bad weather. "Those won't last to Abingdon," he said. "They never do. You buy them for the fuss, not the keeping."

She didn't answer. She climbed down, stepped over the coal sacks and went below to the table, where the letter from the river authority lay under the teapot. The mooring at Culham had been sold, and they had three weeks to clear the berth. She set the bucket on the table, and the peonies bowed their heavy heads towards the window, towards the water they had been cut from.

Her father came aboard, read the letter over her shoulder and said nothing. He took a jam jar from the cupboard, filled it at the tap and pushed the stems in one by one, the reddest ones at the front where the light would catch them. "Still good for a week," he said. "Long enough to be looked at." Then they carried the jar up onto the cabin roof, where anyone passing on the river could see it, and let the barge drift on.