Black and grey dandelion with drifting seeds and the script words love her but leave her wild across the ribs.

Dandelion seeds and script quote on the ribs

Lettering · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

A black and grey dandelion head sits at the left, with seeds lifting away from it towards the upper right. The phrase love her but leave her wild is written in flowing script, with a few small seed heads placed between the words. The linework is crisp and the dandelion is softly shaded, on pale skin photographed in black and white.

Lettering Botanical Ribs Dandelion Seed Script Quote

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The rain came sideways down Cathedral Street before the stalls were even unlocked, so I set out the bulbs under the awning with my sleeves already soaked. My father chalked his sayings on the board by the till, and the one still there this morning said LOVE HER BUT LEAVE HER WILD, the letters smudged where the damp had got into the chalk. Nobody ever asked what it meant. People just bought their onions and moved on.

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Mr Pell arrived at half eight, as he has every Saturday since his wife died, and bought one small paper packet of dandelion seed. He has never sown it. He keeps them in his coat pocket and tips them out on the bench by the fountain when the weather is kind. Today he leaned on the counter, dripping, and told me that Margaret used to say that line about him, that he loved her enough to let her go wherever she pleased and never once tried to keep her in a jar on the windowsill. He laughed when he said it, but his thumb kept rubbing the edge of the packet.

He took a dandelion clock from the bucket by the door, the old grey kind gone to puff, and blew on it before I could stop him. The seeds lifted off the stem in a rush, caught the wind coming up the hill, and spread across the market like a handful of thrown salt. One settled on a fishmonger's tarpaulin, one on the wet head of a toddler, and the rest slid away over the rooftops towards the bus station.

When he had gone I found one seed still caught in the wool of my cuff, pale and fragile and already beaded with rain. I could have flicked it off into the gutter with the other rubbish. Instead I carried it under the awning, set it on the chalkboard ledge beside Dad's words, and left it there to dry.