I looked up into the big, old willow tree. There was a nice shady spot under the tree that I loved to sit in. As I sat, a drop of water fell onto my cheek from the tree. It was nice and cool. Then came tears. Hot tears.

I remembered when I first saw this tree. I had been running across the prairie, from my brother, when I found it. I know it's silly. But I am comforted by this tree. I came to it when my grandmother died. I came to the tree when I failed a test in school. I came here when my parents got divorced. I came here when I won my first softball game. I came here after I got my little brother. I came here when I was sad. Mad. Happy. Or just lonely.

I am now 18. I have come to this tree since I was 5. This tree has heard me tell it everything. It knows my life. But no more. For tommorow I am leaving for college. And the owner of these prairies wants to build homes here. My tree shall be cut down. I had to go home for I was tired.

When I came back the next morning, my tree was gone. All I found was a leaf. I took the leaf home and stored it in a book. My tree was gone. Silly I know, but I loved that tree. It had my history. Now it's only part of my memories.