The wood anemone bent out over the path sporting 15 open flowers; the smaller plant, 9. The park seemed more populous than recently.  The cowboy, Colin, had already packed his gear when I arrived at center stage.

A man asked if a dollar would buy a picture, as indeed it would.

A trio of girls from Maryland wandered by, looking for a good place to sit and eat lunch.  “Have you got time for a hula today?”  One of the girls, Emily, wanted to dance, so I fixed her up with a lei and told her about the hukilau.  After the first verse, she signaled her friend to come over and take a picture.  In the distance, I noticed Carole, her camera nearly obscuring her face.

At the end of the second verse of “The Hukilau Song,” Emily ran back to her friends; Carole came forward and gave me a dollar.  “You don’t have to give me money every time,” I told her.

“Not every time,” she said.

Emily returned with a dollar and my lei.

A man approached from the benches and gave me $2.

Three willowy blondes strolled by.  I tried to convince them to hula, but they smiled and kept walking.  Just before exiting the plaza, however, one turned back.  “Have you changed your mind?”

“No, no,” said the woman, stooping to drop a dollar and change in my case.

A pack of Italians rode in on their bikes.  They enthusiastically accepted my offer to hula, each kicking in a buck afterward.

A woman of a certain age, having finished her lunch, handed me 2 singles.  “Very entertaining,” she said.

A couple had been lingering on the bench in front of me.  The man stretched out, with his head in the woman’s lap, while she scrolled through her phone.  From time to time, the man looked up at me, then, after a few songs, he appeared to be napping.  At last they got up to go, and the man veered off in order to make a donation.

“Thanks,” I said, “I thought you were sleeping.”

“Love your music,” he said.

“Thanks for the show,” said another man, shortly before I ended my set.

I was surprised to count out $17.76, a number more suited to the busy summer season, July, say, than these slow days of September.