Black and grey fine line tattoo of wildflowers, including cornflowers and open five-petal blooms, on the outer thigh.

Wildflower bouquet on a thigh

Fine line · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo shows a bouquet of open five-petal flowers with cornflower-like buds and leaves arranged in a loose cluster. It is drawn in clean black linework with fine dot and hatch shading in the centres and along the petals. The tattoo is shown in black ink only, with the thigh filling most of the frame and a denim short and patterned top at the edge.

Fine line Botanical Upper arm Flower Wildflower Bouquet Leaves

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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

My grandmother said the cornflowers grew only where someone had been forgiven, and she would not let me pull them from the verge behind the mill. So when the miller's boy came up the lane with his cap in his hands and asked me to marry him, I told him to wait until the hedgerows were full of blue. He waited. He carved a little wooden spoon every evening that summer and left it on my step, and by August there were eleven spoons in a row like soldiers, each one smoother than the last.

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The quarrel that had kept us apart was over a field boundary and a dog that never should have crossed it. Both our fathers were dead by then, and neither of us wanted to be the first to say the thing that needed saying. Instead we worked the same strip of ground from opposite ends, him with the scythe and me with the rake, meeting in the middle each evening to pass a jug of cold tea between us.

On the last day of August he found me kneeling in the long grass beside the old wall, my apron full of blooms. Poppies had gone to seed and wild roses were trailing over the stones, and between them the cornflowers stood up stiff and bright as thimbles. I held out a fistful. He took one, turned it over, and tucked it behind my ear without a word.

The spoons are in a drawer now. The wall is still there, and every year the cornflowers come back to it unbidden, which my grandmother would have called proof of something, though she never said what.