The cherry trees on the bend just outside the village of Campegnac are no longer there.
This is bad news.
They are not the victims of road realignment or theft.
It was simply a question of time.
Their past had caught up with them.
Their future was no more.
On the bend today there are only the tracks left by a tractor that must have left the fields earlier.
Its wheels were wet, dew soaked, and the tracks shine and sparkle in the early morning sun.
They look like the glistening skin of a giant lizard.
They will be long gone by the time I return.
But with no cherry trees, what’s the point?
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