Black and grey wildflower bouquet tattoo with daisies and lavender-like spikes on the inner upper arm.

Wildflower bouquet on an upper arm

Botanical · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A bouquet of wild flowers with two daisy-like blooms, a freesia-like flower, and tall spikes of small buds rising from a bundle of leaves. The linework is fine and precise, with stippled dotwork shading in the leaves and petals. The tattoo is shown in black ink and grey tones against a soft-focus green background, with the sleeve of a knitted jumper visible at the top right.

Botanical Fine line Dotwork Upper arm Wildflower Daisy Lavender Bouquet Leaves

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The bundle had to be tied before the dew burned off, so Edwin Marr worked the hedgerow with his knife while the girl held the basket. Lavender first, he said, because it bruises if you let it lie. Then the daisies, which would keep all afternoon and sulk for it. Nell had counted nine kinds of wild thing on the verge that morning and wanted to carry every one home, but he made her choose three.

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Past the stile the meadow ran down to the beck, and the grass was thick with seedheads that brushed the backs of her knees. She had come up from Kendal in March to learn the seed trade from her uncle's cousin, a man who wrote his ledgers in pencil and never once used a capital letter. He kept pressed specimens in a biscuit tin, each labelled with a place and a date and nothing more, as if the flowers needed no further explanation.

The freesia-like bloom was the difficulty. It was no native of the dale, Edwin admitted, only a stray from a Lancaster garden that had seeded itself over the wall. Nell wanted to leave it behind. He said the bees did not check paperwork. They cut the stems on a slant and laid them across each other in the basket, daisies face up and the tall buds all pointing the same way, like people walking home together.

At the cottage he stood the bundle in a jug of beck water and said nothing until she had finished her tea. Then he slid the tin across the table. Under a fresh sheet of tissue lay a single daisy she had not seen him pick. Its label read only: Nell, the meadow, the stray. She understood, a little late, that he had been learning her too.