The wave of red tulips behind the benches at the entrance to the park at 72^nd St. has given way to a wave of white tulips.  Purple hyacinth and wood hyacinth are holding up nicely, and in the middle of it all a bleeding heart stretches out its branches, the little white flowers with red centers hanging like carillon bells over the undergrowth.  Deep green rose bushes have not yet formed buds.  At the northern pergola across the road from Strawberry Fields, wisteria pushes out its first green shoots.

The jazz combo played the singularly inappropriate “Moonlight in Vermont.”

Again, I was too late to Bethesda Fountain; the accordionist was pumping away on one side of the fountain, and the single stringed instrument (ehru) player was scratching away at the other.  I set up under the maple.

A young couple walked by, whispered to each other, then stopped.  The man walked back and put a dollar in my case.  A little later, the dad of a family of 4 tossed me 60 cents.  An affianced couple and their photographer stopped in front of me for a photo shoot.  We took some pictures together, then the photographer asked if the man could hold my uke while I stepped out of the picture.  Finally, the photographer asked if I might be so kind as to lend the man my hat.  Afterwards, the man returned uke, hat and a fiver.

Toward the end of my set, the big bubble man walked by with his bucket in order to get more water at the boathouse.  “The fountain misses you,” he said.  I explained that others had got there before me.  “The Chinese guy is gone now,” he told me.  “And you’re so much better than that accordion.”

Ordinarily I finish my set where I start it, but with 15 minutes left, I folded up my case with all my paraphernalia in it and returned to center stage.  A little girl of 3 or 4 was hanging out with her mom at the edge of the fountain.  Enthralled by my solar-powered hula girls, she shyly approached for a better look.

“Have you got time for a hula today?”  She smiled and said nothing.  Looking toward her mom, I got the ok to put a lei around her neck.  Her name was Eva, and she danced to “The Hukilau Song” with her arms held tightly against her body, her hands slowly moving at waist level.  Mom gave me a buck.

A young couple, each with a camera, were wandering around the fountain area looking for good pictures.  I asked if they’d like to hula; they demurred.  As I wrapped up my set, however, the man returned and wanted a photo with me.  “No hula?” I asked again.

“She doesn’t want to,” he said, nodding toward his girlfriend as she pointed the camera at us.  She shook her head “no” to emphasize the point.  He opened his wallet and took out 2 singles.  “Maybe next time.”

“That’ll be tomorrow,” I told him.