Small black outline daisy tattoo on the inner wrist of a hand raised towards the camera, in a fine line style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small daisy tattoo on the wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small daisy outline sits on the inner wrist, with a rounded centre and evenly spaced petals drawn in thin black linework. The hand is open and raised in the background, with soft focus on the surrounding skin and a blurred warm backdrop. The composition places the tattoo near the centre of the frame, making the fine detail easy to see.

Fine line Botanical Forearm Daisy Flower

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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 bus to Market Harling left at twenty past seven, and Mum had already decided I would be on it, though I had not yet decided anything at all. She stood at the sink with her back to me, rinsing the same cup for the third time, and said the Pryces' hens would not feed themselves while I was off being clever in a city I had never seen.

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My father mended clocks above the saddler's on Cooper Street, and he had taught me that a small thing done carefully outlasts a large thing done in a hurry. So I sat on the back step with his finest pen and a sheet of blotting paper, drawing daisies. Not roses, which the Women's Institute sold by the dozen at the Whitsun fair, and not the sweet peas Mrs Ashdown kept in tins. Daisies, because they grew in the gaps between the cobbles where nobody had planted anything, and because each petal sat exactly the same distance from the next, which was the only kind of tidiness I trusted.

On the Friday before the bus I walked to the crossroads with the drawing folded in my glove. Tom Pryce was leaning on the telegraph pole, pretending he had not waited an hour for me to pass. He read the sheet twice and handed it back. 'That's only a flower,' he said, as if I had not known. 'It's a promise to write,' I said, and felt foolish, and kept walking.

The bus went over the humped bridge with the windows rattling. Behind us the crossroads shrank to a dot, and I breathed on the cold glass until it misted, then drew one more daisy in the damp, small enough to vanish when the mist cleared, and watched the fields turn from green to grey.