Black and grey tattoo of a tree silhouette whose canopy breaks into scattered dots, on the side of a torso in a black and white photo.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Tree dissolving into dots on the side

Botanical · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

A solid black silhouette of a small tree stands on pale skin, with its canopy breaking apart into a drift of tiny dots that spread to the right. The linework is absent, so the form is built from flat black fill and stippled dots. The photograph is monochrome, and a hand and a grey fabric sleeve sit in the lower right of the frame.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Margaret had counted the rooks on the hill road every morning since the storm, and every morning there were fewer of them on the wire. The old ash at the top of Coldharbour Lane had come down in March with half its crown still in leaf, and Dan Pryce from the council had promised it would be cleared by Friday. It was not cleared by Friday. It lay across the lane like a drunk man, and the children took to climbing it.

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She went up with a paper bag of sycamore keys she had gathered from the verge outside the chapel, because her late husband used to say a tree was only a clever way of moving seeds about, and she wanted to see whether he had been right. The crown had split at the fork. Where the bark tore, a grey cloud rose and settled, and when she held out her palm it turned out to be hundreds of dried leaves no bigger than a fingernail, curled and light as ash.

She stood there longer than she meant to. The wind came up off the valley and took them out of her hand in one long breath. They went across the field towards the church, scattering in a fan, each one landing somewhere she could not follow.

On the Thursday a boy came to her gate asking whether she had seen his kite. She had not. But in the back garden, pressed into the moss beside the water butt, there were fourteen small leaves, and under each one, when she lifted it, a green shoot no longer than a thread had begun to uncurl.

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