Goodbye, Little Squirrel, Rest in Peace

(Morrison, CO = Won Jeong) It was the kind of day that could truly be called a summer day.

The temperature was rising, and the sun felt unusually intense. Before heading to Red Rocks, however, a small tragedy occurred. While driving through a quiet street, a squirrel suddenly darted in front of my car. Before I had time to react—or even process what had happened—it was over.

The weight of that moment stayed with me throughout the drive. A small life had disappeared before my eyes, and the guilt lingered in my mind. By the time I arrived at Red Rocks, the sun was slowly sinking behind the horizon. Looking toward the fading light, I silently wished the squirrel farewell and whispered a quiet apology in my heart.

As the Colorado Symphony began to play, darkness settled over the amphitheater. Red lights illuminated the massive rock formations surrounding the stage. In that moment, the music felt almost like a requiem for the squirrel I could not stop thinking about.

Then the evening’s featured performer, renowned cellist Yo-Yo Ma, appeared on stage.

To my surprise, he was not at all what I had expected.

Perhaps because of the title “world-renowned maestro,” I had imagined a charismatic elder statesman with an overwhelming presence. Instead, Yo-Yo Ma seemed more like a kind-hearted neighbor. His gentle eyes, soft-spoken manner, and warm gestures gave him an approachable quality that immediately challenged my assumptions.

Even during his lighthearted exchanges with conductor Peter Oundjian, Yo-Yo Ma displayed an effortless sense of ordinariness. Gradually, my thoughts drifted away from the squirrel and toward the fascinating simplicity of the man standing before the audience.

That evening, he did not perform the Prelude I had expected. Instead, he played other works whose names I do not remember. Yet the melodies themselves remain vivid in my memory.

Listening to him, I felt as though this ordinary-looking man was telling the story of his life through his cello. At times, the music carried profound sorrow. At other moments, it overflowed with joy. Loneliness, longing, happiness, and gratitude seemed to flow through the instrument and into the audience.

And then a thought suddenly crossed my mind:

“This is a man who never abandoned his path, no matter how difficult it became.”

Like anyone else’s, Yo-Yo Ma’s journey could not have been easy. Yet he had walked through every hardship and challenge with quiet determination, carrying only his cello along the way.

At one point during the performance, a passage emerged that felt almost heavenly.

And in that moment, I imagined the squirrel’s spirit, which had followed me throughout the evening, rising toward the sky along with the music.

In my mind, the little creature turned back and waved its tiny paws toward me below.

It was saying goodbye.

And quietly, from my seat beneath the stars of Red Rocks, I said goodbye as well.

“Goodbye, little squirrel. Rest in peace.”