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The spirit here reminds me of springtime on the farm, seeing calves outside the first minutes. Born during winter and confined to box stalls until there’s enough grass in the pasture, these calves require farmer’s help with people waving and bright flags hanging on the fence before they notice a fence and learn that it confines. Calves first in the pasture try to run–tails straight up–although they’ve no idea how.
Hear the flags flutter in the breeze and smell the new toxic paint of this water calf. Feel the smooth hull coatings with nary a spot of rust.
Scaffold still surrounds the bridge, and …
and… and … she must be levitating, bulbous bow down, or in drydock?
Fotos thanks to Mar, whose site–el mar–awaits on the blogroll. Mar’s from Vigo, due east of Sandy Hook about 3000 miles. I don’t know Paula C’s future route, but I’ll be waiting at the Narrows when she arrives, atlantica-experienced, having lost all gawkiness.