These 70 degree October afternoons are a gift. Autumn is evident everywhere. Dead leaves blow over the lawns, acorns are ankle deep along the sides of the path, dog roses send their last, desperate vermilion buds into the air, in defiance of frost. Once again, adapting to the cowboy’s schedule, I arrived at the fountain near his quitting time.

Andrew, a 20-something I’ve seen around from time to time, got there with his guitar before me. He and I came to an agreement. When the cowboy left, Andrew would move to the west side of the fountain and I would take center stage. So it was I spent the next 15-20 minutes under the maple, warming up my voice on “My Baby Just Cares for Me” and “Down Among the Sheltering Palms.” When I returned to the fountain, the cowboy was just packing up. Andrew looked at him over his shoulder. “Right on time,” he said.

A photographer set up his tripod to take pictures of the Angel of the Waters, with pigeons perched on her head and wings. Two young men were hanging around, eyeing my uke. When I stopped to talk, one asked if it was a tenor, and could he try it. The conversation was about ukes; his buddy, bored, wandered over to the photographer, asking about lens. When I finally got my uke back, the young men wandered off together. Moments later, the photographer folded up his tripod, slipped his camera into its bag and hoisted it onto his shoulder. As he walked past, he put $2 into my case.

“Thanks a lot,” I said.

“You deserve it.”

A tall, skinny Asian boy had been sitting with his friend across from me on the bench. I watched him walk toward me, drop 4 quarters into my case, and walk back. He and his friend continued to listen for another few minutes, before, waving “Aloha,” they disappeared into the crowd.

A 30-something woman gave me a dollar, but would not hula.

A small boy, with a dollar in his hand, started toward me, but when our eyes met he ran away, back to his mom. I took a few steps to the side and, without making eye contact, observed him, with mom’s encouragement, as he inched toward me again. When he was close, I turned to give him a smile. He dropped the money and ran back to his laughing mom again.

A gay couple walked past me to the lake. Moments later, they walked back, each pulling a dollar from his pocket to give me. “You’re the best,” one said to me. “The best ever,” said the other.

My set over, I counted out $7 and packed up my gear. As I got to my feet, I turned my face to the sun, soaking in its warmth, and hoping these gifts would never end.