Near the entrance to Strawberry Fields is a water-fountain. On one side a man my age sells photographs, and on the other side a different man my age sells buttons. Today, I noticed that the tree behind the button-man was loaded with pink spikey fruit. “It’s dogwood,” he told me. “Sometimes conks me on the head; the birds and rats fight over it. Some guy came around the other day on an edible plant tour of Central Park and told me I could eat it.”

A large crowd had formed around the mosaic in Strawberry Fields. October 9th is John Lennon’s birthday. Two electric guitars led the crowd through the repertoire; it was tough luck for the acoustic homeless platoon. An officer of the NYPD, looking bored, stared straight ahead and chose not to hear me when I wised off, “Are we now allowing amplification in a Quiet Zone, officer?”

It looked like center stage was mine, until I spotted a young man picking a classical guitar piece on a 12-string upright fingerboard with an amp hook-up.

The large elm halfway up the path had lost most of its leaves. The small English mulberries near my spot were covered with shiny red fruit; the large mulberry didn’t seem to have any. Maple seedlings from above coptered into my case.

A well-dressed international couple were the first to show their enjoyment of my music, followed by a young Swedish woman, who asked if I would sing “Happy Birthday” to her friend Tura. “Is $10 okay?” She seemed quite relieved when I assured her it was.

A few years ago, someone passing by said, “You suck.” More often, someone who wants to dis me will drop a penny or two, for which I always say, “Thank you.” Today, 3 teenagers formed a dis train: the first dropped 2 nickels, moments later the second another 2 nickels, and finally the third, 5 pennies. They strode off laughing in single file, patting each other on the back.

A Chinese toddler was released from his stroller to dance. He stood about 10 feet away, flexing his knees, up and down. He would come no closer, was not interested in a lei, was totally unresponsive to me or his mother.

I turned my attention to a family walking up the path. “Have you got time for a hula today?”

“Of course we do.” A Swiss mom with her son and 2 daughters put on leis, took a little hula instruction from me (which mom translated for the children), and danced to the hukilau. In the meantime, the Chinese toddler sidled up to the Swiss boy, who was about 9. The boy put his lei on the toddler and they danced the second verse together.

After 90 minutes, I put $14.26 in my pocket. The sing-along to John Lennon was still going on. The policeman seemed not to have moved.