Five, six, pick up sticks

The backyard is strewn with fallen branches. I can't gather them up for snapping/sawing into binnable pieces until the rain stops. Crazy-wild storm here last night. Maybe not as bad as they got in parts of Sydney, but bad enough. When you live in a building bordered on two sides by big trees and realise how often they will drop a sizeable branch, you understand why campers are cautioned against pitching a tent beneath them. A teenage chum was nicknamed Treebeard. I haven't the foggiest why. We went to different schools, so there must have been an incident I missed. His other sobriquets were Quiche Eater and Frog. Those I can explain, only it would take too long. I need to return to staring out the window at fallen branches.