Dandelion seeds on the inner wrist
Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo
A small tattoo of a dandelion clock on the inner wrist, with its stem running down the forearm and loose seeds drifting up and away towards the hand. The linework is fine and the seeds are rendered with soft, light grey shading that fades into the skin. The background is blurred greenery, and the composition is centred on the wrist with the hand raised above it.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
Nell had been counting the seeds on the dandelion clock since the fair opened on Sallow Field, and she had reached three hundred and eleven when Mother Grist's grandson came trudging across the grass with a penny in his fist. "She says you're to come," he said. "She says you've been waiting to be told something."
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Mother Grist sat under a canvas awning painted with moons and stars. She did not look at Nell's palm. She took the clock from her and held it up against the evening light, and she said that every seed carried a year, and that a year let go on the wind was a year nobody could make a person keep. "Blow, then," she said. "Choose which ones to lose."
Nell did not want to lose anything, so she blew softly, the way her father had taught her to blow out candles in church. The seeds lifted in a loose ribbon over the caravans, past the carousel horses and the smoke from the toffee stall, and away towards the hedge. Some caught the wind and climbed. Some dropped like tired moths into the grass. She watched the last of them vanish over the river, and found she was not sorry.
"Well?" said Mother Grist. "What did you let go?"
Nell thought about it for a long time. "The waiting," she said. The old woman laughed, a dry sound like a gate swinging, and took the penny back, and gave Nell the bare stem to keep. Nell carried it home down the lane, and whenever she passed a field of seeds after that, she stopped to see what they would take with them.
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