Fine line tattoo of a small sprig with purple flowers and thin green stems on the inner forearm near the wrist, with a fist raised against a white background.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Purple flower sprig on a wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A small sprig of purple flowers on thin, branching stems is tattooed on the inner forearm near the wrist. The linework is fine and delicate, with the purple blossoms lightly shaded and the stems drawn in dark green and black. The tattoo sits off-centre in the lower part of the frame against a plain white backdrop, with a hand clenched in a fist above it.

Fine line Botanical Forearm Sprig Flower Stem Leaves Bud Branch

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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

Past the last wall of the Cordwainer's yard, where the lavender ran down to the millrace, a widow called Agnes Tull kept a bed of heather and a bench that nobody sat on. Each March she cut one sprig from the oldest plant and walked it up the hill to the churchyard, because her husband had asked her to on his deathbed, and she had never once been able to refuse him anything.

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The sprig did not grow wild. Its stems were thin as thread and wanted shelter, so she kept it in a clay pot on the kitchen sill and turned it every morning so the buds faced the window. Neighbours said she talked to it. She did not deny it. She told it the price of flour, the news from the market and who had quarrelled with whom at the mill, and in return the plant put out small purple flowers, five or six at a time, along branches that bent like a wrist.

One winter the pot froze solid and the buds went black at their tips. Agnes sat up three nights with a candle and a shawl, carrying the pot from sill to hearth and back again. On the fourth morning a single green shoot had pushed through the soil with two buds folded tight beneath it. She carried the pot out into the garden and set it on the bench, and in the thaw that followed she sat down beside it for the first time since the funeral.

She went out every afternoon after that. The sprig grew at her elbow, and the bench, which had waited so long for someone to use it, went soft and grey with weather and was never once painted again.