Black and grey botanical tattoo of a daisy style flower with outlined petals and a stippled centre on the upper arm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Daisy flower tattoo on upper arm

Botanical · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A large outlined flower with layered petals fills most of the frame, resembling a daisy or gerbera. The petals use thin black linework with fine interior lines for shape, and the centre is filled with dense stippled dots that create grey shading. The flower is in black and grey with a pale skin background, and the design is centred on the upper arm with a dark garment visible at the edge.

Botanical Upper arm Flower Daisy Petal

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The frost has furred the polytunnel plastic again by six, and you are already on your knees between the rows, snapping the spent gerberas at the base so the stems don't rot the crown. Your father always said a gerbera gives up its last bloom if you are kind to the roots, and he said it the way he said most things, looking at the weather rather than at you.

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The stippled centres are the hardest to get right. Each one is a tight dome of tiny florets, and in January they go grey with damp before the petals even start to fade. You have a tin of seed packets in your coat pocket, the old kind with a sunflower printed on the front that you never bothered to swap. Your sister wants the tunnel turned into a flower stall for the spring market in Hexham, and she wants your name on the sign, though you have not decided whether you will stand behind a trestle table in the wind.

By noon the sun has got under the plastic and the air smells of wet soil and paraffin from the heater. You count the stems you have saved: forty-one, not bad for a winter that took the other beds. Then you notice a single bloom at the far end, its outer ring of petals curled back like someone who has stopped listening, and you realise it has gone to seed without anyone telling it to.

You take it out of the row, carry it to the back door, and set it in a jam jar on the sill where the light comes in flat across the yard. Tomorrow you will open the tunnel doors wider and see what the frost has left you. Tonight you will sit at the kitchen table with the seed tin and sort the dead heads into paper envelopes, one name written on each in your own hand.