Fine black line tattoo of a daisy with a long stem and single leaf on the inner wrist, with a dark sleeve below.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small daisy on the inner wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small daisy with rounded petals, a central disc and a single thin stem with one leaf is drawn in black ink on the inner wrist. The linework is delicate and even, with no shading, and the design sits in the centre of the wrist against pale skin. The background includes a dark sleeve and a green fabric, which frame the tattoo.

Fine line Botanical Forearm Daisy Flower Stem Leaf

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mrs Tennant had counted the cracks in the harbour wall every spring since the winter the boats came back short, and by April there was always one more than the year before. She carried a trowel in her apron pocket and a paper twist of seed from the ironmonger in Cullen, and she knelt on the wet stone above the slipway as if she were at prayer, pressing the seeds into the grey mortar with one finger.

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Nobody in the village thought it was a sensible use of a widow's time. Her son's boat, the Marigold, had gone out past the Ness in a blow and not come home, and the harbourmaster had said, kindly enough, that the sea kept what it wanted. Mrs Tennant said nothing to that. She only asked the carter for a barrow of loam, and he, who had buried his own brother under the same grey stone, gave her two.

By June the daisies had come up in a ragged line along the wall, white heads no bigger than a thumbnail, each on a stem so thin it bent to the wind. The men coming in on the tide began to slow their boats near the wall to look at them. Some touched their caps. One of the younger lads asked why she bothered, and she told him a daisy only needs a crack and a little light, which was more than most things got.

That autumn the Marigold's rope came in on the tide, coiled round a fender and tied with a knot only her son would have made. Mrs Tennant held it a long while on the slipway before she sent word up the hill. Nobody could say how it had come back. She went down the wall the next morning and found the last daisy still open, its one leaf turned toward the water.