The cardboard sign was stapled to a stick hammered into the ground; it showed an arrow pointing straight ahead to “The Set.”  Not good, I thought.

Along the path past Strawberry Fields, I checked in on the wood anemones.  Having been beaten to the ground by this week’s downpour, they’d recovered a little.  Both plants were flowering in the single digits.  I didn’t stop to count.

Across the road, another sign; this time it showed an arrow to “Set #2.”  I briefly worried there’d be no place to play, until I heard the acrobats’ music coming from the promenade.  Looking over the balustrade above Bethesda Fountain, I saw with relief that the place was all mine.

I got a handful of change from a kid passing by.  From a handsomely dressed woman, more change which included, upon inspection, a Susan B.

A class of 20-25 fifth graders marched past.  I asked the teacher in the lead, “Does this group have time for a hula today?”

“You guys want to hula?”

There was pandemonium.  The kids grabbed the leis, posed and danced, before I could say a word about the hukilau, so I just started singing, “What a beautiful day for fishing…”  They were spread out around the fountain in a 45 degree arc.  Kids in the middle jostled to star in their teacher’s video, while kids on the edges barely moved.  One girl danced beautifully, her eyes on me.  After the first verse, those with leis gave them to those without, and the dance came to a riotous conclusion.

The teacher hustled everyone back in line.  I collected the leis – one was broken – and put the solar hula girls back on their feet.  The girl who had danced the lovely hula pulled a quarter from her skirt pocket and tossed it into my case.  “Aloha.”

A man who’d been listening with his family got up and put a buck in my case.  He was from Leeds.  “In the north, like George Formby,” he said, referring to the English music hall performer, star of stage and screen, and composer, in 1933, of “With My Little Ukulele in My Hand.”

“And like the Beatles,” he bragged.

“And Beethoven,” I added.

“And the Monkees.”  He walked off laughing.

A mom followed her 13-month-old daughter around the fountain.  Whenever she toddled my way, I tried to lure her in for a hula, with mom’s encouragement, but the kid wasn’t interested.

A young man came off the bench and pitched a dollar into my case.  “Thanks, man.”

The kid came back.  I picked up the torn lei and tied it back together to form a baby lei.  She inched closer.  I turned and slowly waved the lei, like a hypnotist might wave a pocket watch.  She took another step closer.  We locked eyes and I gave her my big Mr. Ukulele smile.  Off she ran to mom, who swept her up and plopped her into her stroller.  “Thank you,” said mom, giving me me a dollar.

The change of seasons is palpable.  The temperature stayed in the low 70s, and the breezes blew cool.  I had $7.58 for my efforts today, and I barely broke a sweat.