The heat wave broke this week.  Wednesday was warm and clear with cool breezes blowing from the north.  A new batch of begonias brightened the hill on the other side of the Central Park West wall.  Deep in the underbrush, a single stand of white phlox captures the eye.  Cleome and gomphrena populate the area behind the benches, while the rose bushes, devoid of roses, have only wine-red growing tips to show.

At the Imagine Mosaic, the guitarist sings “Hey, Jude,” accompanied by a blond soprano who shattered the upper registers with her “better, better, better, better.”

Past jewelweed and astilbe, around the corner from Daniel Webster, the jazz combo performs from the American Songbook.  The park is packed.  At Bethesda Fountain, three amplified buskers, a violin and 2 guitars, are duking it out.  On this, among the most beautiful days of the summer, I easily summoned the aloha spirit and kept walking to the maple, where 3 caricaturists were duking it out.  As I set up I asked the closest one, “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all,” he said.  “It’s nice background music for me.”

At the end of the first 30 minutes, no one had given me anything.  During the next 30 minutes, a 40-something Spanish man dumped $1.10 in coin into my case.  In the final 30 minutes, I stopped two 30-something guys and talked them into a hula.  It was a sedate interpretation of “The Hukilau Song” until one of the men broke loose with waving arms, yelps and leaps.  He then tore off his lei with a dramatic gesture and handed it back to me, along with a $5 bill.

By then, with $6.10 in my pocket, it was time to go home.