It would be a patchwork of tiny solos, each petal singing in a register that matches its color. Think of a rose with a slow, warm trill, a tulip with a bright staccato, a daisy that bursts into a quick flourish, all woven together in perfect time. Every flower would have its own little theme, but I’d keep the whole thing tight, no notes out of place, and let a surprise bloom or a rustle of leaves add that spontaneous spark. The finale would rise like a chorus of petals, ending with a gentle rustle that feels like a cymbal crash of nature.

I’d probably give the ukulele a rigorous practice routine first, then let the sunrise do the rest—no half‑measures, just the perfect timing for each petal’s note. Or I could stand on a hill, hand out a score of petals, and let the music run free, if you’ll let me conduct the first verse.