Evening by the Loch of Boardhouse

Our dinner last night was enlivened by the constant coming and going, swooping and hovering of little birds, brown with a white patch on the rump, and maybe a forked tail; they were moving too fast for me to be sure, but from the way they were flying towards the building, were they house martins? After dinner we stepped outside and checked, and yes, there were flattish mud nests under the eaves.

It was still an hour or more until sunset, but the sun was low on the lady's smock in the meadow (mostly pink, some white) and on the kingcups down by the water. Looking the length of the loch, that distant humped shadow on the horizon must be Ward Hill. And over it all, an almost full moon.