Drawing of a woman with flowing hair and a crown of pink, purple and blue roses, shaded in grey, presented as a tattoo design.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Woman with a floral crown design

Botanical · Mixed · Flash

A profile portrait of a woman with her eyes closed, her long hair swept into sweeping curls and waves. A crown of pink and purple roses and blue flowers sits on her head, with more roses tucked near her shoulder and at the lower edge. The linework is fine and the hair is shaded in soft grey tones against a plain white background.

Botanical Woman Portrait Flower Rose Hair

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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

Sit down by the wall, the wasps have gone off the windfalls now, so you'll be safe enough. Late summer it was, the year the Pennick orchard had its worst drought, and every tree stood with its leaves curled like old letters. Nobody thought the apples would come. But Ada Pennick, who'd buried two husbands and never once asked the weather's permission, went out at dusk with a basket and her sharp little knife.

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She cut roses from the hedge along the lane, the pink ones and the dark purple ones that smell of wine, and she cut the blue chicory from the ditch where the carts never went. She didn't weave them into a bonnet for herself. She wound them round a ring of willow, the way you'd bind a bale, and she carried it up the orchard to the oldest tree, the one with the split trunk.

Now here's the part my grandmother swore to. When Ada set that crown on the low branch, the wind came up off the river with a smell of rain that never fell, and the flowers lifted, every one of them, and turned their faces toward the dark house as though someone inside had called their names. Ada went in and didn't come out until morning. By then the crown had dried on the bough, and the apples on the old tree were already swelling, red as a bride's ribbon.

Mind, that tree never bore again. Not one apple, ever. And that's why there's no orchard in Pennick now, only a withered crown the village keeps hung in the church porch, and a rule that you never pick a rose from a hedge in August without saying thank you first.