The swallows dive and chatter; they are constructing nests under the edge of the pontoons. Safe from the many marina cats, I wonder? They are real swallows (not swifts, also fork-tailed but larger) with the amazingly fragile long forked tail, the males bearing deep pinks and blues on head and wings, and the females white breast feathers. They move too fast for me to photograph. The mimosa trees are all in blossom, but lack the wondrous fragrance of their fellows in the south of France or Italy.
This is the road running along the front of the marina; to the left is the sea. You can just observe the security guards' office at the right. The yellow tree is indeed mimosa.
Sunny days prevailed and
Stroemhella gained a wondrous new blue coat, was put back in the sling, and lowered into the water, with David and me aboard. So gently did the men lower us, that we didn't realize we were afloat until we climbed up to look outside.
Back into the sea, freshly scrubbed and painted.
Then we cleaned her inside and made the bunks, ready for Judy, Christiaan and the two boys, due to arrive from Dubai on Saturday early evening, the day before Easter.
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