Black ink line drawing of a weeping willow tree with drooping branches and leaves on a plain tan background, in a botanical tattoo flash style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Weeping willow tree line drawing

Botanical · Black and grey · Flash

The image shows a weeping willow tree with a slender, leaning trunk and long branches that droop downward on both sides of the canopy. The tree is drawn in black ink with sketched, hatched linework, and the leaves are rendered as small pointed marks along the branches. It sits centred on a flat tan background with a small patch of ground shading at the base of the trunk.

Botanical Tree Leaves Branches Trunk

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Nobody in Marrow Lane remembered who planted the willow, only that it had been there before the chapel roof was patched and before the canal was dredged. Its branches came down like a curtain almost to the pavement, and in the autumn the children ran through the green gap underneath as if passing into another room. Old Dora Penhallow swept the leaves from her step every morning with a broom worn down to a stub, and every morning the wind brought more.

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When the council wanted the tree felled for the new bus shelter, she went out in her dressing gown and sat on the kerb with a flask of tea. They sent a young man with a saw and a clipboard. He looked up into the long hanging branches, then at her, then at the clipboard, and said he would come back on Thursday. He came back on Thursday and found her still sitting there, with a second cup poured and waiting on the wall beside her.

He sat. They talked about his mother, who had lived on the far side of the canal and liked the smell of wet bark. By the time the light went orange he had put the saw in the van and taken the clipboard off the bonnet and torn the top sheet in half. The shelter went in on the other side of the road, and it is still there, and nobody waits in it. The willow kept its branches down to the pavement, and the children still run under them, and somewhere in the drooping green is the young man's handwriting, faded now, on a scrap of paper somebody tucked into a knot in the trunk.