A red-toned botanical tree tattoo with a full shaded canopy, trunk and branches, sitting on a forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Tree tattoo on a forearm

Botanical · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A tree with a full canopy of shaded leaves, a dark trunk and fine branches, drawn in red and reddish-brown ink. The leaves are softly shaded from light to dark, and the branches carry more defined linework. The forearm rests on a dark leather surface in a studio setting, with the tattoo centred in the frame.

Botanical Forearm Tree Leaves Branches Trunk

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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

The rowan came down in the February gale, across the back wall of the allotments on Lister Road, and by the time Dev had the chainsaw going half the street was standing at the gate in their dressing gowns. Nobody had planted it. It had simply appeared one spring at the corner plot, a thin grey stem with a crown far too full for it, and for forty years the council had threatened to fell it and never got round to the paperwork.

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Dev worked the trunk down in rounds, the way his father had taught him to split logs for the kiln. Halfway up, where a bough had once torn away, the wood opened into a hollow no wider than a fist. Wedged inside was a biscuit tin gone soft with damp, and in it, tied with garden twine, a stack of seed packets. Each had a year written on the front in pencil, and a name. Mrs Okonedo, 1979. Tom Pryce, 1986. Our Lily, 1994, with a small cross beside it. The earliest had no name at all, only a single red leaf pressed flat.

Dev counted them standing in the mud with the saw ticking as it cooled. The last packet was blank except for the year, which was next year, and a question mark. He turned it over. On the back someone had drawn a small tree, its canopy shaded in red pencil, light at the top and dark where the branches went under, the way you would draw something you intended to keep.

He put the tin in his coat and walked the length of the lane. The leaves in the gutter were still red, scarlet at the tips and going brown at the stalks, and he picked up three without thinking and pressed them into the packet before he could decide it was foolish. Then he went home to find a spade.