that's my sound, man

Another wander around the Braid Burn, another sighting of the whitethroat fledglings. There seem to be 4 or 5 of them, all very inquisitive and still learning what leaf/branch/umbellifer to land on. A blackbird's warning call eventually put them into hiding

a busy day of watering, weeding, and planting bedding around town 
an evening performance at the Scottish Poetry Library 
probably followed by a drink