Friday was warm and beautiful; the park was teeming with life. The first wild roses were opening at the entrance. At the Imagine Mosaic they sang “Here Comes the Sun.” The catalpa tree had begun to leaf out. A few split pods a foot and a half long dangled seedless from the upper branches.

Bethesda Fountain was occupied by the cowboy, the bubble man, and the Boyd Family Singers, so I kept walking to the maple. Across the path on one side was the caricaturist, on the other a pet owner who had set up poster board signs encouraging passers-by to meet his chameleon. The animal was the size of a small dog. “Does it make noise?” I wanted to know.

“No, it doesn’t, but I do sometimes,” and then he bellowed like a barker calling everyone into the tent.

“Fine, I’ll be making my noise over here,” I said, and I set out my gear.

After a while, a group of junior high kids crested the hill. I located the leader. “Has this group got time for a hula today?”

Indeed they did. They were from Rochester, NY. I lined them up and sent them to the hukilau. Those that did not dance drifted over to the chameleon. Then a dancer drifted too. After one verse, I’d lost their interest. No one tipped me. For the second time in a week, I was bettered by a reptile.

A young couple from Bucks County, PA, stopped to dance. They were having a wonderful time in New York, and were up for anything.

A grandfather, minding a baby carriage, leaned against the wire fence and listened to a few songs, while grandma went to the restroom at the Boathouse. When she came back, he gave me a buck, saying, “You’re very good.”

The caricaturist had already moved. The pet owner made too much noise. Thinking the cowboy would be gone by now, I packed up my stuff and set up again by the fountain. A mother with a toddler gave me a buck. A girl on a bicycle gave me one too. A teenager from Arizona stopped to hula; she gave me $2.

The bubble man had moved down from the terrace. He created huge bubbles from a rope web tied in 6-inch squares. The wind carried them high and fast all around the fountain. A dozen or more kids, only some of them supervised as far as I could tell, ran wildly around trying to pop them. One of them ran down a toddler; another ran right over my case and into me.

Singles flew in all directions. The kid was apologetic. He helped me gather everything up. “You should tip the man,” I heard his friend say. “You messed up all his stuff.”

“I don’t have any money,” said the kid, “I gave it to the chameleon.”