Black and grey dotwork sunflower with leaves filling a triangular frame on the forearm, photographed against a white brick wall.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Sunflower in a triangle on a forearm

Dotwork · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A large sunflower with a densely stippled centre fills a triangular frame, its petals drawn with fine lines and shaded edges. Leaves and smaller foliage fill the corners and edges of the triangle, with dot shading building texture and depth. The piece is in black and grey ink on a limb, shown against a plain white wall.

Dotwork Botanical Geometric Forearm Sunflower Leaves Foliage Triangle Floral

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The bride's father would not give his blessing until the wedding breakfast table had a sunflower on it grown in the village, and the only seed in Fenwick was kept in a tin by Old Nan Hale, who had sworn on her mother's grave she would not part with a single grain. So Tom Ashby walked the three miles to her cottage on the morning of the banns, carrying a loaf under his arm, and found her sitting on the step with the tin in her lap, shelling peas into a bowl.

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'You'll have to earn it,' she said, without looking up. 'Every seed I gave away in my life went into the ground and came back as a wall of leaves, and I'd sooner see the pea pods rot than watch another girl ask me for a favour.' Tom sat down beside her and started on the peas. He shelled for an hour without speaking, then for another, and when the bowl was full she took the loaf, broke it, and gave him the heel.

She gave him one seed in the end, flat and striped like a bee's back. He planted it in the corner of the churchyard where the sun came in first, because the rector had said nothing grew there. It came up in the wet week before the wedding, and by the day itself its head had turned to face the lych gate, where the bride was waiting in her grandmother's blue dress.

At the feast the bride's father looked at the flower for a long time, then at his daughter, then at the young man with peas still under his nails. 'The sun goes where it likes,' he said. 'I suppose a seed can too.' He poured the first cup of cider himself, and Nan Hale, who had come after all, was the only one who saw the petals dip towards her, as if to say she had been right to wait.