Fine line tattoo on a forearm of dandelion seeds drifting upward with script words and a dark silhouetted figure at the base, with pink and blue accents.

Dandelion seeds and script on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A forearm tattoo of dandelion seeds drifting upward from a dark silhouetted figure at the bottom of the arm, with small script words woven among the seeds. The linework is thin and mostly black, with small pink and blue touches on some of the seed heads, and the silhouette is more solid and shaded. The design runs the length of the forearm in a loose vertical flow, with the figure as the heaviest element.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Dandelion Seed Script Silhouette Figure Word

Find an artist for this

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 wind came off Scarrow Bay every evening at six, and Mrs Hannah Coyle, who kept the boarding house at the top of the quay, would open the back door to let it in. Her lodgers grumbled about the draught. She told them the wind was only collecting what it was owed.

Keep reading

What it was owed was words. Every seed that left a dandelion clock on the cliff path carried one, and the wind kept them in a sack somewhere out past the lighthouse. A boy called Tobias Lunn came to the house each August with a cough and a cap two sizes too big. On his third day he blew a clock on the harbour wall, and the seeds went up in a white rush. The wind, pleased with him, took the word he had been saving all his life, which was "mine". He did not notice until supper, when he reached for the salt and found he could not say whose it was.

He went to Mrs Coyle. She did not look up from her pastry. "Everybody gives it one," she said. "I gave it my husband's name, the year the boats went out and did not come back. Some nights I still hear it in the chimney." Tobias asked how he might get his word back. She said you could not get a word back from the wind, only trade it: a new word for an old one, and the wind would pick the one it liked best.

That evening Tobias walked out to the wall with a clock in his fist and blew out a word he did not understand, "home", and waited. The wind hesitated, then dropped something small and grey onto his cuff. It was his word, folded inside a seed, and it tasted of salt. He never said it aloud again, but when the wind came off the bay at six he opened the back door of the house for Mrs Coyle, and held it.