Two small geometric triangle tattoos on the inner wrists of two raised hands, one an outline and one solid black, in fine line style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small triangles on both wrists

Geometric · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Two raised hands are shown with a small tattoo on each inner wrist. The left wrist has a thin outlined downward-pointing triangle, and the right wrist has a small solid black right-pointing triangle. The plain pale background keeps the focus on the tiny, crisp shapes, with the contrast between open and filled linework as the main feature.

Geometric Fine line Forearm Triangle Geometric shape Outline Minimal Wrist

Find an artist for this

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

Now sit closer, for the frost is in the lane and the stove has only one more log in it. You want to hear about the two marks Ada Pryce scratched on the gateposts at Coldharbour Farm. Her father had cut the lambing board from an ash tree that came down across the top field the year the river flooded, and he taught her that every gate needed a sign so the hired men would know which stood shut and which stood open.

Keep reading

The empty triangle, pointing down, meant the gate was shut and the ground beyond belonged to the ewes. The solid one, pointing right, meant come through, the way is clear. Ada was nine that winter and small enough to crawl under the hurdles. She went out each dawn with a stub of charcoal and a tin of lamp black, and by February she had marked every post twice, once for the weather and once for her mother, who had gone to the town infirmary and had not come back.

Then the snow came thick and stayed. The drifts swallowed the posts to their shoulders, and when Tobias, the hired man, went out after three ewes that had wandered off, Ada went after him with the lantern. She couldn't see the marks, so she felt for them with her mittens. She found the empty triangle first, pointing down, and stopped him at the gate where the ice lay thin over the brook. Then she led him along the solid ones, pointing right, one post after another, until the lantern caught the shed roof.

Come spring, when the thaw took the snow off the wood, her father went along the fence with his knife to scrape the old marks away. Ada wouldn't let him touch the last one. 'That one's for the way back,' she said, and he left it standing, a small arrow on the grey post, the only door on the farm that was never shut.