Close-up of a fine black script tattoo reading Wanderlust on a bare foot near the ankle, with a beaded anklet, resting on tangled tree roots.

Wanderlust script tattoo on ankle

Lettering · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

A bare foot rests on gnarled tree roots, showing the word Wanderlust written in thin black cursive script across the top of the foot near the ankle. A silver anklet with a turquoise bead and a small charm sits above the tattoo. The image is a natural-toned photograph with soft, muted greens and browns in the background, and the black lettering is the clear focal point.

Lettering Fine line Ankle Wanderlust Script Lettering Anklet Bead Charm

Find an artist for this

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 roots came up through the lane the spring after my father died, and nobody in Hollin's End thought to cut them. They humped the cobbles like the backs of sleeping pigs and crept under the churchyard wall until the gravestones leaned like drunks. My mother said the trees were only looking for water. I said they were looking for a way out, and she clipped me round the ear for being clever.

Keep reading

Tilly Ashworth was the only one who believed me. She was nineteen, sold beads from a tray outside the post office, and had a habit of walking barefoot to the edge of the wood to think. She'd strung a turquoise bead on a fine silver chain for me once, for no reason, and told me it would keep my feet from wandering. I laughed. She didn't.

The autumn she left, she didn't take the bus. She walked into the wood at dusk with a tin of ink and a sewing needle, and when I went looking the next morning I found her sitting on a great knuckle of root, pressing letters into her own skin with a pin dipped in soot. The word was dark and thin as a hair: Wanderlust. Beside it, the bead on its chain had caught the grey light and held it.

I never saw her again. Some years later a postcard came from a port I couldn't pronounce, showing a tree with roots bigger than a house. On the back, in small looping script, she'd written: The roots go all the way down, Wren. Come and see how far they reach.