The cylindrical celosia behind the benches has turned gray.  Only the gomphrena contributes color, its magenta buttons rising 6 feet on skinny stems.  The invasive wild asters have begun to wilt.  Farther down the path, boneset has overgrown half the wood anemone; the other half sports 18 flowers, most of them from the lower reaches of the plant.  The smaller plant, without any weedy interference, has at least 30 flowers.

I set up in the unseasonable heat and played for a full 30 minutes without a single contribution.  It looked as if, for the first time, I might be shut out.  I stopped for a rest and a long drink of water.  As I started again, a family of 3 walked by, and dad pulled out a dollar for me.

Two women stopped some distance away and turned their backs.  They were going through their change purses, which together yielded 80 cents.

A 12-year-old came off the benches with another dollar, then joined his family as they left the area.  The benches were empty now.  Anyone with any sense had moved into the shade of the arcade, where a doo-wop group was performing.

With 5 minutes left to go in my set, a well-dressed 40-something woman walked through the plaza.  “Have you got time for a hula today?”

“I could use a hula,” she said.  She danced to “The Hukilau Song,” with effortless motions and a beatific smile.  She was from Napa, California.  “Sorry I don’t have more,” she said, putting a dollar in my case.

“Not a problem.  Thanks for stopping.”

“Aloha.”