Fine line tattoo of three daisies on the wrist, with a gold bangle worn just above it.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Three daisies on a wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Three daisy flower heads of different sizes are tattooed in a cluster on the wrist, the largest in the centre and the smaller two arranged beside and below it. The linework is thin and delicate, with petals outlined and lightly shaded in dark ink. The tattoo is in a single dark brown or black tone against the skin, and a gold bangle and pink nail polish sit in the frame above it.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mr Pryce swore daisies knew when rain was coming. By nine the sky over the Ashby Row market had gone the colour of wet slate, and every bucket on our stall had its petals folded shut like tiny umbrellas. "They're keeping their own counsel," he said, flicking a stem with his thumb. "Give them an hour under the canopy and they'll open up again. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

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Nobody much wanted flowers in that weather, so when the man in the navy anorak stopped at the bucket with the small white heads, I was glad to see him. He didn't ask for a bunch. He asked for three, each a different size, and he watched me choose them with the care of someone picking parts for a clock. I gave him the largest for the middle, a medium one, and a little one no bigger than a coin, and wrapped them in brown paper that went soft in my hands.

"My mother's kitchen window faces the bins," he said, counting coppers onto my palm. "She says it's the only thing out there worth looking at. I thought I'd bring her something that stays small."

He left under the drip of the awning. I kept the empty bucket where he'd stood, and when the rain thinned to a grey mist around four, the daisies at the edge of the stall had begun to lift, one petal at a time, the way a hand unclenches. Mr Pryce was right. They had only needed somewhere dry to remember what they were.

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