Sophia laughed as she ran through the meadow that was in the back of her house. She always thought it amazing that, on one side of the house, there was the bustling city, filled with the crash and rattle of cars and the yelling, talking, laughing, screaming sea of people. But, on the other side, there was just her, the music of the birds, and the whispering of the leaves of the trees as the wind blew through them, talking in a secret language that she could never understand. The meadow, Sophia knew, was a magical place. 
Every day, Sophia went outside, through the tall grass, until she got to a tall, tall tree that she called the "Wise Old Oak." Whenever Sophia went up to the tree, and sat down beside it, she wasn't alone anymore. The meadow seemed so much more alive. When Sophia had troubles, Wise Old Oak comforted her. He whispered secret words to her that she could never understand, and the wind played with her hair. Then, before Sophia left, she gave something to him: an offering. She left it for the animals, the plants. and the fairies. Sophia knew they were there, somewhere. Sometimes, her offering was a piece of cake, or fruit. Perhaps it would be a small doll or toy. Maybe a little note, or poem. Sometimes, she sang for her gift. And, sometimes, the tree left her something: a leaf, or a .nut, or a flower, or a stone. Small things, common things, but Sophia felt they were left for her. 
One day, Sophia told her mother of Wise Old Oak. 
"There is a tree , in the meadow, and it is special, " Sophia told her, "his name, or what I call him, is Wise Old Oak. He comforts me when I am sad, and whispers words that I cannot understand but are filled with knowledge. He is my best friend," 
"Oh, yeah? The words are just the wind. And just the presence of nature is what comforts you. The name is simply a name, nothing more. Your affection, my dear, is sweet, but the tree is not alive. It cannot speak, and it is not wise. It is simply a tree," she said. 
Sophia knew her mother was trying to be kind, to be comforting, but the words stung. They mQde her doubt in Wise Old Oak 's power, that he was real, that he was more than just a tree. But, the next day, when Sophia went to see him, there was a tiny clear stone there, sparkling in the sunlight. She picked it up, and it cut her. It looked, she realized, like a tiny diamond, though it was uncut. 
"Thank you ," Sophia whispered to the tree, ''I'm sorry I ever doubted you. You are real, I know you are. " The wind caressed her face, and she felt better. But Sophia did not tell her mother, or anybody else, about the stone, or Wise Old Oak, ever again. 
When it was summer, Sophia found some leaves on the ground. They were a bronzy color, and they were from Wise Old Oak. When she lay next to him, she felt, somehow, a sense of urgency. Sophia grnbbed the leaves, and 
rushed back to the house. 
"Mom!" Sophin yelled. She rushed downstairs. 
"VVhot is it?" Sophin's mother's voice sounded urgent. 
"I found these leaves on the ground. Can you tell my whnt they c:~re? 
Why are they this color?" Sophia asked. Her mother picked up the leaves, nnd turned them over and over. "These are oak lec:~ves." she sc:~id. 'I know that! Tell me more!' Sophia thought, silently willing her to explc:~in. 
"This oak," Sophin's mother went on, "Is sick. It hc:~s o disense known c:~s Oak Wilt. It will die by winter. I don't know of anything you ccm do." Sophia felt like she was falling down, down, down, nnd there was no wny up. Sophia walked slowly up to her room. She lc:~y down on her bed, nnd cried her henrt out. The tears rnined down, and drenched her pillow. 
Sophie:~ couldn't bring herself to go nnd see Wise Old Onk. She couldn 't even bring herself to go to the meadow. Her life seemed pointless with the knowledge that Wise Old Oc:~k might not be there to help her, to guide her, to be her friend. Sophia hoped, agc:~inst everything she knew, that Wise Old Oc:~k would survive, but she didn't renlly think that he would. She hoped, though, for that was all she could do, as far Cls she knew. Sophia didn't look up Oak Wilt. 
She didn't wnnt to know how Wise Old Oak would die. Her mother knew something was wrong. "What's wrong? Why don't you go to the meadow nnymore?" she asked Sophia. 
Sophia nlw<:lys C<:lme up with some excuse. 
"There's <l test," or, ''I'm reading, " or, ''I'm growing out of it, " she 'd say. 
Eventu<llly, Sophia's mother stopped asking. 
At l<lst, in nutumn, Sophin went to the meadow ag<lin. A cold wind blew through the meadow. The meadow W<lS silent, waiting. It seemed sad. Sophin went up to Wise Old Onk , and hugged him. He seemed to have been waiting for her, hanging on, so that she could sny goodbye. Sophi<l hugged him some more, and emptied her pockets. Fruit, n little doll, some cnndy, and so many notes tumbled out. 
''I'm sorry I didn 't come to see you, " Sophia told him. She wns crying ngnin. And then the wind blew stronger pnst her face. Sophin thought she heard some sort of voice, but it could hnve been her imnginntion. 
"I forgive," it told her, "Thnnk you for everything. " And then, Wise Old Onk wns no more. Sophin knew it in her henrt. The wind ended, nnd the birds began to sing. Wise Old Oak was renl , Sophia was sure of it. And, even though he wasn 't alive right in front of her, Sophia knew that Wise Old Onk vvould live forever in her heart. And then, for the first time in her life, Sophia heard the mec:~dow song It wc:~s c:~ lively tune. The birds set the bec:~t, c:~nd the wind was the words. It wc:~s the most beautiful thing she hod ever hec:~rd. Sophia promised herself that she would always come bock to the meadow. every single day. And she did. Every time, she could hear the meadow song. She always brought a gift for the meadow. for the plants. for the fairies. and for the spirit of Wise Old Oak. And sometimes, she found something from the meadow, right next to Wise Old Oak's body.