Pencil sketch of a small wildflower bouquet with leaves, buds and pale lilac petals on a plain off-white background.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Wildflower bouquet sketch

Botanical · Mixed · Flash

A loose bouquet of wildflowers and buds rises from a single stem, with a cluster of small blossoms at the top and several round seed heads along the side. The linework is fine and grey, with light shading on the leaves and stems, and a few petals washed in faint lilac. The sprig sits centred on a plain pale background with plenty of empty space around it.

Botanical Fine line Bouquet Wildflower Bud Blossom Leaves Stem Seed head Sprig

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Ada Pell walked the lane out of Halsey every Saturday that summer with a basket over her arm, and every Saturday she came home with whatever the verges had kept back. Campion, vetch, a sprig of valerian for the smell of it, and the pale cluster the old men called lady's lace. Her mother used to say that a bunch picked for a neighbour carried a little of the picker's luck with it. Nobody in Halsey believed that, but nobody turned the bunches away either.

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Harold Mott had not spoken to her since the autumn the bridge washed out and his cart went in with it. He kept his gate shut and his curtains half drawn. So on the first Saturday of September she tied a bunch with garden string, hop bines curled round the bottom of it, and left it on the top bar of his gate where the morning sun would reach it first.

It was still there at dinnertime, and by teatime it had been moved. The bunch stood in a jam jar on his kitchen windowsill, and one or two of the round seed heads had been shaken into the folded corner of his newspaper. Ada only learned this because Harold's niece came into the shop for stamps and said her uncle had asked, very gruffly, what the little green ones were called.

Hops, Ada told her. He'd find them up along the river wall in a week or so, if he cared to look.

In April a green tangle came up along the bottom of Harold's wall, and by June it had climbed the drainpipe. He never came to the shop to say thanks. But every Saturday after that, a jam jar of something from the verges sat on Ada's step, and she never once saw him leave it.