The day brought brilliantly sun-lit, hot, mid-summer weather. The chestnut blossoms have creamy white flowers more than halfway up the stalk; people have spread blankets and picnic under the dense foliage. Because I know the blight will soon turn the chestnut into a brown and withered corpse, I was put in mind of some Mexican art, where skeletons can be seen cavorting, death and life commingled.

The sprinklers are on, surprising walkers from time to time with cool spray. The flame-like leaves of the catalpa are on the boil, sprouting from the branches in all directions.

“Have you got time for a hula today?” A family from Chicago stopped and, with a little encouragement, two young girls, maybe 4 and 6, rocked from side to side and waved their arms in dance. Dad gave me a fiver.

Three passersby, in rapid succession, dumped pocket-loads of change in my case. “You should have an umbrella,” a young man advised. “You’ll burn to a crisp out here.”

“I’ve got a hat, SPF 70, and a bottle of water,” I assured him. “Thanks for your concern.”

A large group of students from the Netherlands wandered into the plaza. A girl with a camera moved to the rhythms, but would not hula, nor would any of her friends. After a few tunes, however, they couldn’t help themselves, and pretty soon a half dozen Dutch girls donned leis, lined up and danced to the Hukilau. They told me they were from Brabant, that part of southern Netherlands that was the battlefield of The Thirty Years’ War. At the end of the dance they wandered off, although 2 girls did come back with a tip for me.

People were looking to the sky, so I looked too. High in the air was a drone, an aircraft maybe 18 inches across with a camera mounted on top, and 4 whirring propellers. It climbed to 50 feet over the fountain, flew over the lake, descended to 15 feet, hovered, rising and falling at the operator’s will. “This has got to be illegal,” I commented to a Greek man on a bicycle who stood, with me, watching.

“There he is,” said the Greek, pointing out a man sitting at the west end of the plaza, who appeared to be staring into a monitor.

The drone was a major distraction that lasted 10-15 minutes. I kept playing, but people were focused on the sky; it was impossible to ignore. And it was totally creepy. I strummed through to the end of my set and started to count my money, $11.82.

Three little girls were attracted by my leis. They gathered around me while I packed up. “Have you got time for a hula today?” I asked them. Their eyes widened, they looked around for the man who had brought them to the park. He looked at me, made a quick evaluation, said ok. So I passed out the leis, put one back on myself, and off we went to the hukilau.

“Turn to your dad so he can take a picture,” I said.

“He’s not our dad,” they told me in unison. “He’s our uncle.”

At the end of the dance, uncle gave me a buck. The little girls squealed as they walked away, “that was so much fun.”