Close-up of a fine line tattoo of three daisies in a row on the inner wrist, worn beside a beaded bracelet.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Three daisies on a wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Three daisy-like flowers sit in a row across the inner wrist, each drawn with a clean outline and a dark centre. The linework is thin and even, with little or no shading, so the petals read as simple open shapes. The ink is dark, close to black or deep brown, against a green leafy background.

Fine line Botanical Forearm Daisy Flower Outline

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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 daisies were still warm from the pavement when Mother pressed them between the pages of my atlas, one after another, as if she were counting out coins. We had walked the long way home from Mrs Pargeter's sewing circle, past the chapel wall where the verges went white in June, and she had stopped to pick three flowers without once looking at me.

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Dad had gone to Ashford on the Tuesday bus with a suitcase and a promise to write, and the letters came every second Friday, each one shorter than the last. Mother read them standing at the mangle, lips moving, then folded them into quarters and tucked them behind the clock. I never asked why she kept picking daisies. Mrs Pargeter's grandson said they were only weeds with good manners, and I agreed with him because it was easier than agreeing with Mother.

By September the pressed flowers had gone the colour of weak tea, so Mother asked me to draw them properly before they crumbled. I used the Indian ink and a nib from the stationer's on Church Street, working slowly so each petal came out as one unbroken line, the way she had taught me to lay a seam. When I finished, the middle flower looked back at me like a face that had been waiting. Mother held the paper up to the window and said, 'Now he has to come and see the three of us.'

The next letter came on the Friday, and for once it ran to a second page. Mother read it at the kitchen table without moving her lips at all. On Thursday, she said, the bus would stop at the corner by the chapel, and the drawing had to be where he would see it from the door. I carried it through to the front room, lifted the clock down from behind the mantel, and set the three daisies in its place with their dark centres turned toward the hall.