A hillside of once white tulips molder brown and gray on their stems.  An occasional exotic bulb, survivor of years past, blooms scarlet or yellow among the wreckage.  The Women’s Gate entrance to the park is in colorless transition, after spring bulbs and before the roses.  Elsewhere, wild pink geranium dominates, poking through the ferns at the Imagine Mosaic, and surrounding the tree at the crosswalk, where bicyclists, with increased frequency, stop for red lights.

On the other side of Daniel Webster, azalea have taken over, denser and more colorful the closer I get to Bethesda Fountain.  People have lined up to take pictures in front of an 8-foot-tall blood red azelea; the approach to the stairs down to the fountain is more muted, with smaller bushes in salmon and white.

My busking started slowly, with my first dollar recorded after 14 minutes, from a young man off the bench.  A slender mom, and her pre-teen son on a skateboard, stopped to listen.  “Have you got time for a hula today?”

“It would have to be a short one,” said mom.  “We’re on our way to ballet class.  How about it?” she said to the boy, who shook his head emphatically no.  “We do like your ukulele,” she said, and tossed 3 quarters in my case.

A little girl of 6 or 7 was reluctant to hula, but her mom settled it by pushing her toward me.  After putting a lei around her neck, I gave her a very short hula lesson, which consisted of raising her arms to form the horizon, then moving her arms to make the ocean waves.  Keeping arms up is the hardest part for little kids, and this kid was no exception.  Every 4 bars of the “The Hukilau Song,” her arms sank.  Mom immediately put her own arms up and we were good again for another 4 bars.  After the dance they walked away.

A photographer gave me $2 for a picture.  Then Carole, my park photographer friend of many years’ standing, stopped to chat.  She put a dollar in my case, as has become her custom the first time we meet each season.

A small boy of 3 or 4 bipped and bopped to my music.  “Have you got time for a hula today?”  There was no response; perhaps they didn’t understand English.  At the conclusion of my song, “Honolulu Eyes,” the dad gave the boy a dollar to put in my case, for a total of $9.15, including a 5-cent Euro coin.

The early totals this year, with earnings north of $20, were bound to plummet. Nine dollars is a fine day’s pay; no doubt I’ll have something to say about break-even ($2.70, round trip senior subway fare) before the season is over.