Tree at ninety degrees

I received a phone message one foggy morning in late winter from SO with this news, in picture form (hence the photo quality or lack thereof). At first I thought I was looking at my tiny phone photo sideways, but then got the picture - of the picture. And what it pictured. Or something.

An old sheoak, for which this paddock was named, is no longer. Well, it's actually still there, of course, rather than having just disappeared into the ether. It will be for quite some time, given it's size. It was no great girth around, being a slim sort, svelt as trees go, but when walking - for quite some time - around it we finally appreciated just how tall it was. And how lucky it fell sideways instead of the more logical and expected downhill trajectory - onto the fence, a sheep, a horse or another tree. Sometimes not having a logical and expected outcome works in our favour, the drawback of this being that things get utterly unpredictable altogether, like taking a shortcut with alpacas through the garden.

Study revision: All the names and shapes and parts and cartilages and intrinsic muscles and extrinsic muscles and bits and things of the impossibly complicated little lump that is the larynx. Without getting overwhelmed. It's just a pipe joiner with a valve after all.