A week before Halloween, the temperature crept just above 60 degrees. So off I went, under a heavy gray sky, hoping to get in what any day now could be my last for the season. Acorns crunched under foot; oak leaves rustled and swirled in the wind. The colors of the park were saturated in the diffuse light, yellows, browns, reds, greens. The dark purple leaves of the water plants in the fountain looked like cormorant wings drying in the cool autumn air. After tuning up, I spotted a bride and groom with their photographer, looking for a pretty background for their pictures. There were to be 4 sets of brides and grooms this day, 4 renditions of “The Hawaiian Wedding Song,” for a combined take of $0.

A teenaged boy made the walk from the water’s edge to toss a coin in my case. “Thank you,” I said, without looking. As he walked back to his friends, I glanced down to see he’d given me a penny. Continuing to play, I contemplated the thought process that led to such deliberate disrespect, before I turned my attention to a woman on the stone bench who was pulling something out of her purse. Nine out of ten times it will be a cellphone; this time it was a fiver for me.

Another woman strolled by and started dancing. “Have you got time for a hula today?” She seemed not to understand, so I stopped playing and pantomimed a hula. “Oh, no no no no,” she giggled, then later, returning with her daughter, she dropped a dollar.

Next up were 2 young girls who clasped hands and danced in circles to “The Hukilau Song.” A Spanish woman who’d been sitting with her kids got the idea. With the leis around their necks, the kids just stood there until I draped a lei around mom’s neck too. Following mom’s lead, they danced to both verses. At the end, the elder child was given a dollar for me, the younger a dime. Off they went to enjoy the day, but came back 10 minutes later to give me another dollar and another dime.

A light-haired boy of 12 or 13, in a bright green raincoat, made his way toward me with a dollar in his hand. We chatted about ukuleles for a while, then he told me he was from The Netherlands. “No kidding, I’ve been there many times. What city are you from?”

He thought for a moment, then said, “The Hague.”

“You mean den Haag,” pronouncing it as I was taught by our Dutch friend Eric, with a breathy guttural that sounded as if I were swallowing my own tongue. We shared a good laugh.

A group of a dozen or so teenaged girls came bounding down the path. About half of them were up for a hula. They lined up on either side of me, attracting a large crowd to watch the show. A young man stepped forward with a dollar. A little girl of 3 or so wanted to join the dance, but when one of the teenagers put a lei around her neck, the toddler ran back to hide behind her mother’s leg.

During the last third of my set, I heard a soft saxophone behind me. The offender had set up facing the arcade. Among buskers, setting up against another busker is the unpardonable sin. Yet, having heard this guy before, I could tell that he was holding back, for he could easily have blown me away. My set over, I pocketed $12.21, and left the sax to do his worst.