Almost daily, I find one or more of these muthas lying on the grass, or squashing some poor fellow plant or an item of garden furniture.
I drag them around the corner of our house and add them to this pile - a spectacle I have seen beside many local homes:
In most parts of the world, leaves falls gently, soundlessly, and can be tidied up with rakes before rotting into mulch. In Darwin, massive palm fronds tear away at the base without warning. (If you hear a ripping sound from above, drop your G&T and move! Once one of these landed on a chair - thankfully empty - that I'd placed beside the pool only hours beforehand). Their fibrous forms will take forever to decompose, so they are disposed of with the help of a mulching machine - a long, noisy and sweaty business.
Quite possibly because I'm not the one who does the mulching, I find something delightfully exotic - and satisfying - in clearing up massive palm fronds from around our home. For starters, the place looks so much tidier after a few minutes of effort. "Look at me, gardening!", I chuckle to myself. Wrestling croc-length pieces of dead tree (muttering "You call that a leaf? This is a leaf!"), I am reminded that in the tropics, there's no pretence of an even contest between humankind and nature. Round here, even plants don't do things by halves.