Fine line black dandelion seed head tattoo with a long single stem on the forearm, shown against a patterned fabric.

Dandelion seed head on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A dandelion clock sits at the top of a long, thin stem, with fine radiating lines forming the seeds and small tufts at their tips. The linework is delicate and even, with soft dark shading at the centre of the seed head. The design is in black ink only, placed in the centre of the frame with the stem running down and out towards the lower edge.

Fine line Botanical Forearm Dandelion Seed head Stem Flower

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mind the stairwell, love, the light's been out on nine since the spring, so keep one hand on the rail and listen close. This one's about wind. Rosalind Penny lived on the fourteenth floor of Harrow House back when the lifts still worked on a Tuesday, and every morning before the bread van came she went down to the verge by the bins to pick a dandelion clock. She'd hold the stem between finger and thumb, the way you'd hold a bird you didn't want to scare.

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Her gran had taught her the old counting. One puff for each hour, and you counted the seeds that lifted off before the stalk went bare. The clock on the bus shelter had been stuck at ten to four since 1979, so the estate ran on Rosalind's puffs instead. Nobody believed her until the Monday the council man came round with his strimmer. She handed him the clock and told him to blow. He did, not gently, and the whole head went up over the car park like a bad idea.

He looked at his watch. It said ten past seven. Rosalind shrugged and said she'd only counted the ones that flew, because the ones that landed were for somebody else to keep. He laughed and said that wasn't how time worked. She said it was exactly how it worked for anyone who'd spent a winter on the fourteenth floor with nothing to watch but weather.

Next April the kerb along the car park had a yellow edge nobody had planted. Her gran would have said it was a clock keeping its own time. The council man, when he came back with the strimmer, left that patch alone and told everyone it was the only thing on the estate running to schedule.