Black ink drawing of a stylised rabbit built from spirals and solid black shapes, shown as a tattoo design on white paper with no body placement visible.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Spiral rabbit line design

Blackwork · Black and grey · Flash

A bold black ink design of a stylised rabbit, with two long upright ears at the top and a rounded head formed by a tight spiral. The body curls down into a larger open spiral at the base, and the thick solid black strokes contrast sharply with the plain white background. The design is in black ink only, with no shading or colour.

Blackwork Rabbit Spiral Ear

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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 hare had been at the cabbages again by the time I got the kettle on, so I stood at the back door in my slippers and counted the damage. Four leaves stripped to the ribs. Nothing else touched. Whoever he was, he had manners, and he never once went near the sweet peas Edwin planted the year before he died.

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Mrs Okonedo next door swore it was the Ashby boy's rabbit, escaped from a hutch in March and gone wild in the hedgerows. I never believed in tidy explanations for things that move at dusk. I'd seen him twice: once sitting up on the compost heap with his ears laid back like folded letters, and once in the middle of the lawn, going round and round the sundial as though he were winding something up.

So in April I dug a bed in the shape he'd made, a long curl of earth starting at the hedge and tightening towards the sundial. I planted cabbages in the outer loops and lettuce in the centre. Edwin would have laughed. He always said I garden like I'm doing sums. His spade still hangs in the shed with his initials burned into the handle, and I used it every morning, though my knees complained.

By June the cabbages were fat and the lettuce had run to seed, and the hare had left me alone entirely. Then one frosty morning in November I found his tracks crossing the whole bed, loop after loop, spiralling inward until they stopped at the sundial's base. A single dark stalk of kale stood there, a plant I had never put in the ground. I left it where it was.