Colour sunflower tattoo with a purple centre, orange petals and green leaves, placed on the chest beneath the bust of a woman in a dark top.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Sunflower tattoo under the bust

Botanical · Chest · Colour · Photo

A shaded sunflower with orange and yellow petals, a purple centre and green leaves sits in the centre of the chest, just below the bust. The petals have soft gradients and fine detail, and the head is viewed from the front. The dark top and a hand resting on the chest frame the tattoo against the pale skin.

Botanical Chest Sunflower Flower Petal Leaves

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mind the step, it gives under you, and sit where you can see the lane. Aye, that's it. Now you'll be wanting the sunflowers, because everybody in Hollin Cross wants the sunflowers, though they'll tell you it was the war that made them. It was not the war. It was Ada Fenwick and a tin of seed she got off a Dutch deckhand in Hull, and a patch of allotment ground behind the beck that nobody else would touch.

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That ground had been nettles since her brother went missing at Anzio. Ada dug it with a fork and her mother's temper, and when the first shoots came up in the spring of fifty-two the whole village came to look and said she'd wasted good soil. By July the plants stood taller than the chapel roof, their faces turned to follow the sun from the church to the mill. The boys swore they could tell the time by them, which they could not, but they stopped arguing the point after Harold Pike fell in the beck trying to prove it.

By August the heads had gone heavy and the middles darkened to a deep plum, the colour of a bruise going off. Ada cut the best one with the kitchen knife, carried it down the lane wrapped in a tea towel, and set it on the ledge of the post office window where Mrs Pike kept the scales. Nobody bought a thing that afternoon. They just stood and looked at it, orange at the rim, gold at the tips, the dark eye at its heart full of seed like a clock with too many hours.

She dried that head on her kitchen wall until Christmas. Every spring after, a fat bee found its way through the open window to the nail where it hung, and Ada would stand very still and let it stay. Ask her what she was waiting for, and she'd say the sun knew where to find her. Mind your tea. It's stewed.