The cherry tree behind our house sat on an enclosed piece of land behind a tall fence that belonged to an abandoned house.
One day all the blinds in the house appeared closed and they were never opened again.
It was rumoured that the owner of the property decided to go back to his village in Extremadura from where he had originally come; but this was hearsay, as no one knew for certain.
We never took much notice of the property or the rumours about its owner, but each Spring our attention turned to the way its fruits grew and we guarded the tree from unwanted gatherers.
It was right behind our house and therefore it was our tree. We were the only ones allowed to collect its gifts.
I remember Spring as a time to guard the tree, care for it, and then feast on cherries, until the property was demolished, the cherry tree killed, and a set of standard, modern apartments built, pushing us towards new pastures.