David Leddy's script starts out disjointed, a jigsaw of fragments, as you sit on a bench at Location One, the fountain. It gradually assembles itself into the story of a family of musicians, and then into something darker. The voice acting is excellent: Moth, the son, soft, hesitant and heartfelt; his sister Helena, matter-of-fact with undercurrents of sorrow; the unnamed narrator/guide, sometimes friendly, sometimes, as Moth says, 'almost uncomfortably close'. Snippets of striking language are used in different ways by different people as your path crosses itself.

If I had to criticise something about this weird, beautiful piece of theatre, it would be that the locations don't match as specifically with the story as I was hoping they might. You get the impression it was written with specific locations in the Glasgow Botanic Garden - where it was originally staged - in mind. But there were moments of serendipity throughout it. Just as an uncomfortable truth behind Moth's relationship with his father was revealed, I happened to be in the insectivore house looking at a sinister pitcher plant - elegant, deadly and inescapable, with two drowned bees in it. Later, as the characters experienced a terrible ending, I was by a tall, heavy, black double door in the garden wall while a garden staff member swung it shut and bolted it for the night. I'm sure others will have moments like this on their own wanderings.

Another wonderful thing about Susurrus is that it brought me back to the Botanic Garden, which is glorious at this time of year. I recommend this highly and I am eager to see what the Plays Out people come up with next.