Small pink bow tattoo with a dark outline on the upper outer ear, with a finger with a silver glitter nail pointing at it.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small pink bow on an ear

Other · Colour · Photo

A close-up of a small pink bow tattoo on the upper outer rim of an ear, with the person's hair visible at the top left. The bow has a dark outline with solid pink fill and a simple, cartoon-like form. The skin around it looks slightly red, and the plain dark background keeps the focus on the tattoo.

Other Bow Ribbon

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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

Pull your chair in closer, because this is the part folks in Harlan Creek never agreed on. Ruthie Dunmore kept a spool of pink ribbon in the drawer of her sewing box, and it was the only thing in that house that was ever allowed to be silly. Her husband Walt ran the feed store and believed in nothing that could not be weighed. So when the travelling fair came through in August with its painted wagons and its striped tent, Ruthie bought a single paper bow from a boy selling them by the penny, and she pinned it nowhere at all. She just kept it in her apron pocket for three summers.

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The turn came the week the river flooded the lower road. Walt was stranded at the depot with a load of seed sacks, and Ruthie walked the mile to fetch him in the rain with the bow tucked somewhere she would not admit to. Nobody saw her take it out. But the town clerk, who was a gossip and a poet on Sundays, swore she tied it to the iron railing at the crossing, a loop of pink against all that brown water, so that a man on the far bank could see the place where the ford was safe to cross.

Walt crossed there at dusk. He told me himself he saw the bow before he saw the road, and he laughed out loud, which he had not done in years. Now, you may ask whether a scrap of ribbon can save a man from drowning. I cannot tell you that. I can tell you the railing is still there, and some child in every generation ties a bit of pink to it, and the river has never once taken a child who did.