Fine line black chevron tattoo on the side of a middle finger, shown in a hand gesture with gold rings.

Small chevron tattoo on a middle finger

Fine line · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

A close photograph of a hand forming a loose circle, with two small black chevrons stacked on the side of the middle finger. The linework is thin and even, with no shading, and the ink reads as dark grey against the skin. The plain blue patterned fabric behind the hand keeps the focus on the tattoo and the thin gold rings.

Fine line Geometric Hand Chevron 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

The chevrons were my grandmother's idea, not mine. She painted them in white gloss on the fence posts along the bottom of the kitchen garden, two small roofs pointing towards the potting shed, so the lodgers from the cottage would stop wandering into the raspberry canes. Nobody read them except the wasps and me.

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The summer I was nine, Dad lost his wedding ring somewhere between the compost heap and the rhubarb. He searched for a week on his hands and knees while Gran sat on the bench with her tea going cold, saying nothing, which was how she won most arguments. On the Sunday she walked me down the path, counting posts under her breath, and stopped at the fourth one. The chevron there pointed at the water butt, and under the water butt, half sunk in green slime, was the ring.

I asked her how she knew. She shrugged and said she had watched him take it off to lift the netting, and that a man who has been married thirty years will always put his hand down in the same place. She had not painted that post for the ring. She had painted it for him, years before, because he was always the one who got lost on the way to the shed.

Dad still wears the ring, though he is thinner now and it turns on his finger when he weeds. Every spring I repaint the posts with the same tin of gloss. The fourth one I do last, and I let my thumb rest on the point of the chevron while the paint dries, the way she taught me, so the next person who comes looking knows which way to go.