Fine line black script reading in a world of my own runs across a forearm beside an outlined daisy tattoo.

Script quote and daisy on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A fine line script phrase reading in a world of my own curves across the forearm, ending beside a large outlined daisy with rounded petals and a centre detail. The linework is thin and even in a single dark ink, with no shading or fill. The plain skin tone and soft, neutral background keep the focus on the design.

Fine line Lettering Botanical Forearm Script text Daisy Flower Quote Petal

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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

The frost is still white on the top field when you reach the gate, and you have the ewes counted before the sun clears the hedge. Your father has given you the lambing shed this week because his hip won't take the ladder any more, and he says it the way he says most things, without looking up from his tea. You don't mind. The shed is warm with straw and breath, and nobody talks to you in there except the animals, who don't expect answers.

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Danny rattles past in the Land Rover on his way to the sale ring and lifts two fingers off the wheel. He has been saying since you were small that you go about in a world of your own, and he means it as a joke at your expense. You have never found it much of an insult. The world you keep is the one where the water trough cracks at night and you break the ice with the heel of your boot before anyone else is awake.

On the way back from the bottom field you find a daisy in the lee of the wall, stubborn and low, its petals folded shut against the cold. It is the wrong month for it entirely. You crouch and look at it for longer than you should, then pick it and put it in your coat pocket, knowing it will be limp by dinner.

Your father is at the table when you come in, reading the feed invoices with his glasses on the end of his nose. He asks what you were doing out there so long. You tell him you were counting. He nods slowly and says he used to count too, before the farm got him, and he goes back to the invoices. You take the daisy out and set it on the windowsill beside the kettle, where the low light comes through its petals and throws their shadow across the glass.