I seldom busk on the weekends, but I made an exception today. The park was teeming with people. Every imaginable instrument was out, African gourds, Chinese one-strings, Randy and his dobro, not to mention several guitars, a violin and a saxophone. There was a mime in striped shirt and beret, and Lady Liberty all in green. The Sunday crowd was augmented by the NYRR Women’s Half Marathon, which seemed to be wrapping up by the time I got to the finish line at Bethesda Fountain. On the western steps a crowd had formed to watch the brake-dancers/acrobats, so I walked down the eastern steps, braved the throngs, nodded greetings to Meta and Arlen, walked past a portraitist, said hi to Nick, the hand-writing analyst, and set up shop across from the boat-rental kiosk, my #3 location.

The warm weather over the last few days has brought out the forsythia, and the magnolia trees are blooming both pink and white. At lakeside, the willow trees are already turning from winter yellow to spring green. A lot of people are carrying palm leaves this Palm Sunday, so after my opening medley I break into “Down among the Sheltering Palms.”

New Yorkers take the park back from the tourists on Sundays, and a lot of those New Yorkers seem to be single dads. Both hulas danced today were by toddlers and their dads. Today’s only fiver came from a young Argentine and his daughter. After 90 minutes, $11.35.

The crowds on my way out were only slightly smaller. Arlen and Meta were packing up. “Too chaotic today,” Arlen complained. “And too hot.”

“Maybe if I played in the nude,” Meta said, “someone would notice.”

Later, exiting the park, I saw that new amusements were still pouring in, like the giant soap bubble man and the back massagers, two chairs, no waiting.