Fine line black ankle tattoo of a vertical geometric arrow with a dotted diamond trail, shown below rolled jeans and dark leather shoes.

Geometric arrow tattoo on an ankle

Fine line · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

A slim vertical arrow sits on the inner lower leg above the ankle, drawn in thin black linework with a dotted trail of small diamonds beside it. The arrow has a pointed head, a diamond-shaped central section and a fletched tail, and the lines are fine and evenly weighted with little shading. The photograph is taken outdoors against a yellow and grey striped road, with the tattoo as the clear focal point.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The stakes were pegs, not petals. Hettie Corrigan had spent the morning knocking survey pegs into the wet turf of Penhallow Common, one every twenty chains, while the marquee men shouted at each other across the field. Her brother had asked her to find the old line from the lychgate to the quarry lip, the one their grandfather had walked with a chain and a notebook the summer before he married. Nobody else had bothered to check it.

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By noon the pegs ran true. She had a dozen flickering diamonds of red tape in the wind, a trail she could follow with her eye from the church gate to the stone ledge above the quarry where the photographs would be taken. At the last peg she stopped, took out the brass compass her grandfather had left her, and sighted down it. The bearing held. Ahead, the far end of the line pointed straight at the spire, as though someone had drawn an arrow across the parish and aimed it at the day.

Tom came up the path in his morning suit, holding two bottles of cider by their necks. "Is it straight?" he asked. She handed him the compass. He squinted down it the way their grandfather used to, one eye shut, lips moving as he counted. "It's straight," he said, surprised. "It was always going to be straight. Grandad just never finished marking it."

Hettie took the compass back and pulled the final peg from the turf. The tape slid off it like a loose ribbon. Below them the bride was stepping out of a car at the lychgate, her dress snatching at the wind, and the photographer was already waving her towards the path. Hettie laid the peg across her palm, point forward, and watched the whole congregation turn to follow it.

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