There's a roundabout in our village that I pass on my morning walk. It's as pretty as a little garden, but one road connects to the motorway so it's usually too busy to visit.
Then at the beginning of January, for reasons that now escape me, one Sunday morning I invaded the island. Beneath a palm tree lay a pile of fruit.
It hadn't just been dumped - you can see how carefully it was arranged - so I took a photograph, left it there, and walked away, wondering. Was it a child's school project - a study in decomposition? Some local ritual I hadn't heard about?
Or maybe it was an offering to the gods.
The weed had grown, the papaya had collapsed in on itself and the bananas were black, but the orange and apple were still fine. They were better preserved than the ones in my fridge. This is Tenerife, so I couldn't put their longevity down to freezing weather!
At the beginning of March the orange still looked whole, though I wouldn't have fancied eating it, but the apple was half rotten.
The oddest thing, though - someone had removed the weed and added a rock to the arrangement, but left the fruit undisturbed.
This week - three and a half months after I first saw it - the fruit has almost returned to nature, but the greatest mystery of all is that, on an island populated by millions of cockroaches, lizards birds and ants, I have not seen one insect anywhere near this offering.
Perhaps the gods are protecting it.