It was a crystal clear fall day. Despite temperatures in the 70s, folks are wearing sweaters and coats, long pants and hats. All the babies are bundled up for winter. The surviving plants, lantana, begonia, Michaelmas daisies, will thrive until first frost.

I waited for the cowboy to finish his act, then stood up to sing. The first contributor was a German woman. She and her friend had been listening from a bench. An Englishman followed, then an older man. Each gave me $2. Another man off the bench gave me a single. This is why I prefer center stage in the sun over the shady maple on the path. When people can hear more than a snippet, they’re more likely to like what they hear.

A woman and her teenage son carried baggies full of quarters. As they passed, they dropped a few into my case.

Another man off the bench, another dollar. An Irish girl from County Meath, also off the bench, gave me a dollar, but would not dance the hula.

After 90 minutes, I sat down to gather my stuff. A little girl, who had been hanging out near me at the fountain, waved Aloha. I stuffed $11.15 in my pocket and hoisted my uke on my back. Just then a young man approached with $2 in his hand. He and his girlfriend had been listening from the bench for 30 minutes or more. He was from Australia, his girlfriend from Texas; they now lived on the Upper East Side.

“That’s quite an act you have there,” he said. “We really enjoyed it.”