Two side-by-side photos of matching black and grey tattoos: a shaded daisy with the words until the very end on the upper arm, and small daisies with the same script on the top of a foot.

Daisy and script tattoos on arm and foot

Botanical · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

The left photo shows a large shaded daisy with the script words until the very end running down from it, with soft grey shading in the petals. The right photo shows the same phrase in script across the top of a foot, with three small outlined daisies placed around the lettering. The linework is fine and the shading is greyscale, set against natural skin tones on a plain backdrop.

Botanical Lettering Upper arm Other Daisy Flower Script Quote Foot

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You are counting windfalls under the Bramley trees when your brother shouts from the gate that the lorry has come early. The grass is high and gold at the edges, and the daisies nobody mowed have gone to seed in the ditch. Your grandmother always said daisies were the only flowers honest enough to tell you their whole business in one glance: petal, petal, petal, yes or no.

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Nan Ivy is on the porch with her tea going cold. She keeps the phrase in her head the way other people keep a hymn, and she repeats it when the kettle sings or when wasps get into the jam. Until the very end, she says, and you assume she means the harvest. She means something else, and you know it, because her hand on the porch rail is shaking a little and she keeps looking down the lane.

The pickers come and go. You fill crates until the sun slides behind the hedge and the air smells of bruised fruit and cut grass. Nobody mentions the bed they carried downstairs that morning. Instead you pull a daisy from the ditch, separate it petal by petal, and tuck the last one into the cuff of her cardigan, where she will find it later.

Late that night she calls you in. The lamp is off. Did you do the tree by the wall, she asks. You say yes. Good, she says, that's the last one, and you understand she has been counting too. The moon sits in the top branch like a pale fruit nobody will pick.