The day was cool and gray. The only color at the entrance to the park came from the English daisies, tucked into a corner, and the pink and white bleeding heart, near the pergola. Solomon’s Seal grew in clumps at the Imagine Mosaic, and the streamlined orange columbine flowers balanced precariously on slender stalks. A cluster of 6-petaled purple flowers with bright yellow stamens, new to me, brightened up the pathway. The abundant chestnut flowers were tinged with pink, and on Cherry Hill a huge tree covered in purple blossoms had started to drop its flowers on the lawn. A park employee, designated a Discovery Guide, later identified it as a Royal Paulownia.

The Chinese man was sawing away on his 1-string instument by the fountain to the south, and the cowboy was at the path to the east. I walked toward the boathouse, only to find the doo-wop quartet and bass fiddle at the intersection of paths, so I headed back to the fountain and waited for the cowboy to finish.

A young man started me off with $2. Another man gave me a dollar and then took several photos. Next it was the women’s turn, with a dollar from a passing lady and a quarter from another. That did it for donations, although I had several hula dancers.

The first dancer was from NYC. She waved her arms lazily, while her friends, barely amused, stood by chatting among themselves. I didn’t even get to the end of the first verse of “The Hukilau Song” before she took off her lei and handed it back.

The second dancers were a mixed group, two 20-something girls from Los Angeles and Seattle, and a 20-something boy from Israel. Theirs was a vigorous hula, with lots of spinning, hoots and hollers. At the end of the second verse, they gathered up their backpacks and walked off in search of new adventures. My set over, I did the same.