The dogwood berries have started to turn red.  They usually dangle over the button seller’s head, but today he’s not here.  The hot dog cart on the north corner is gone.  There are fewer pedicabs lined up in the shade, the drivers bent over their cell phones.  The park seems to have emptied out for the season.

Today’s wood anemone score:  6-5.

(I noticed a rival league of pink wood anemones farther down the path, under a tree near the road, but decided that entry to the competition was closed for the season, and moved on without counting flowers.)

In the waters of the fountain, lotus flowers have ripened into brown-faced pods, large red and white flowers bloom singly or in pairs on their lily pads, and a tall grass that looks like bamboo rustles softly in the wind.

Nearly a half hour passes before a couple appeared from around the fountain to give me $2.

A tall young man recorded “All I Do Is Dream of You.” He gave me a dollar, and said he was from Uruguay.  I was delighted; it had taken an hour, but I’d earned 30 cents more than a senior round trip on the subway, my definition of break-even.  That was to be all for another 30 minutes.

As I came to the end of my set, four girls from Mexico showed up.  “Have you got time for a hula today?”

They were shy, they demurred, they stared at their feet, but they did not walk away, and soon succumbed to kibitzing, Mr. Ukulele-style.  They danced to both verses of “The Hukilau Song,” and together assembled 3 singles, doubling the day’s take.