Fine line flash sheet of a house, ginkgo leaf, polar bear, pine trees, dinosaur, hand and a scorpio constellation in black ink on cream.

Woodland flash sheet of fine line motifs

Fine line · Black and grey · Flash

A flash sheet of many small, separate black line drawings on a cream background, including a house, a ginkgo leaf, a polar bear, rocks, pine and deciduous trees, a dinosaur, an outstretched hand, a plant sprig and the word scorpio above a constellation. The linework is thin and even, with some dotted outlines and light hatching on the rocks and pyramid-like tent. The arrangement is spaced evenly across the sheet, with no colour used.

Fine line Botanical House Rock Pine tree Dinosaur Hand Constellation Sprig Tent Tree Flower

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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 drawer marked UNCLAIMED has been open since Tuesday, and you have already found a bus ticket folded into a star, a small enamel dinosaur with its tail chipped, and a card with a scorpion's tail traced in dots. Nobody comes for these things. You write them into the ledger in pencil, because ink smears on the damp mornings when the platform drips through the roof of the old booking hall.

Keep reading

Mrs Adair, who ran the buffet car for thirty years, once told you that every lost thing is a map of someone's afternoon. A ginkgo leaf pressed inside a timetable means a walk taken before a train. A pine needle caught in a glove means the line runs north through the forest, past the last house with its lamp left on. You believe her more than you believe the timetable.

On Friday a man in a waxed coat leaves a bundle wrapped in a tea towel: two grey stones striped like slate from a quarry you have never visited, and a folded paper pyramid with three wilted stalks poking from its tip. He does not give his name. You ask him where the bear is, the one that should go with them, and he smiles and says the bear has always been travelling ahead.

You tuck the bundle under the counter and make the entry: one hand, reaching, unclaimed. Outside, the 6.12 pulls away towards the trees, and you find yourself watching the window for a pale shape moving between the pines, slow and unhurried, as if it knows exactly which stop it wants.