Fine line infinity symbol pierced by an arrow, shown as a design, on temporary transfer sheets, and as a small tattoo on the side of a torso in a grey vest top.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Infinity symbol with arrow design

Fine line · Ribs · Black and grey · Flash

The main panel shows a black line drawing of an infinity symbol with an arrow passing through its centre, with the arrowhead at the lower left and fletching at the upper right. The lower left panel shows the same design on small white temporary tattoo sheets placed on grass, and the lower right panel shows a small, thin-lined version on the side of a torso below the arm. The image is entirely black and grey with a plain white background.

Fine line Ribs Infinity Arrow

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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

By the third week of August the Bramley windfalls had started to smell of vinegar, and Tomasz Vogel still hadn't come down from the top ladder. You stand under the Discovery trees with a wicker basket on your hip and call up that the light is going. He calls back that the light has been going since 1987 and he is not about to be told by his own daughter.

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He is working a short wooden bow loose from the highest fork, its string gone grey and furred with lichen. Your grandfather strung it for the orchard boys to chase rooks with, and the arrows went into the hedge more often than the birds. Tomasz wants it down before the first frost, because the shed roof leaks and the damp is getting into the wood.

You lower it on a length of baling twine. In the shed the light is thick and gold, and on the bench lies a sketch he drew the summer before he left the valley: a loop lying on its side, never closing, with an arrow threaded through its middle, head pointing one way and fletching the other. He never explained it. He said the loop was the orchard, the same trees coming back year after year, and the arrow was whatever had to pass through to keep them coming.

You fold the sketch into your apron pocket without asking, and he lets you. Outside the wind turns the leaves silver, and somewhere up in the Discovery a wasp finds the first split fruit. You start counting the apples that drop, out loud, the way he taught you, and when you reach the end of the tally you simply begin again.