Black line tattoo of a heart-shaped wreath of flowers and leaves with a single drop below, on the inner wrist.

Floral heart wreath on the inner wrist

Fine line · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

A heart outline is formed from a chain of single-line flowers, leaves and a braided rope-like edge, with a larger five-petalled bloom at the base and a small teardrop hanging beneath it. The linework is fine and even, filled with dot and short hatch detail in the petals and leaves, and there is no shading or colour. The tattoo sits centred on the inner wrist, photographed against a grey knit cuff and dark fabric.

Fine line Botanical Hand Heart Flower Leaves Wreath Teardrop

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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

Dear Nell, The rain came sideways again last night and found the gap in the chapel roof, so I have moved the seed trays into the gatehouse. You would laugh to see me perched on a fallen capital with the bread knife, cutting back the dog roses. Mr Pryce from the village says the old wall roses will die out if nobody takes a blade to them, and he is the only person here who knows one plant from another.

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I have been training them over the postern arch. The stems wanted to sprawl across the stone, so I bent them round two iron hoops left from the portcullis and tied them with garden twine. By June they had closed into a heart, near enough. The brambles in the moat ditch have braided themselves along the lower edge, and the foxgloves crept up to the point as if someone had asked them to. Abel calls it foolishness. Every morning I count the blooms anyway.

Yesterday the largest flower at the bottom gave up a single drop of water. The sky was clear, so it was not rain. I held my finger beneath it and it was as cold as the well. You said at the funeral that this place is a grave with a view. Perhaps it is. But the heart is still standing on the arch, the knife is still sharp, and so, most mornings, am I.

I have pressed the best bloom between two slates for you, and it is already going brown at the petal edges. Come up when the lane dries and bring the good scissors. The drop is still hanging there, catching the light before breakfast, and I want you to see it before the wind takes it. Your sister, Ada.