The Buddha of Greenleaf Street
When the time came to release him, he didn’t run away in fear. He looked at me, chattered a sound that was not quite human and not quite animal — a sound that meant goodbye . I visited him through the seasons, bringing nuts for him and his companions. In winter he would dart from the branches, always waiting, as if to remind me that love doesn’t vanish when form changes. After ten months he disappeared into the wide green world. That too was a farewell, quiet and complete. It has been two years now. I still visit the squirrels. I still bring offerings. I still think of Matisse every day. He was my teacher, the Buddha of Greenleaf Street. Through him I learned Dharma without sutra, compassion without doctrine, and courage without ceremony. He taught me impermanence not as sorrow, but as participation — that to love anything truly is to let it go again and again, without closing the heart. Sometimes, when the wind stirs the leaves or a squirrel pauses to meet my gaze, I feel him near....