There is one flower that always catches my attention every time I pass by a street in a village or city: allamanda. Its flowers are large, bright yellow, and look like small trumpets blown by the wind. I often wonder, why does this flower always seem to smile at anyone who passes by? Maybe because it knows, without the need for a fragrant scent or overly luxurious petals, it can still make people stop for a moment to admire it.
The first time I really paid attention to allamanda was when I was little, when I liked to play in my neighbor's yard which was filled with these plants. I would pick one flower and try to blow it, hoping that it would make a sound like a real trumpet. Of course, the result was nothing—instead, yellow powder stuck to my nose and made me sneeze repeatedly. The neighbors who saw it just laughed, probably thinking in their hearts, "This is what happens when children have too much imagination."
Although it often grows wild on fences or on the side of the road, allamanda has a charm that is hard to ignore. She is like a simple village girl but always attracts attention, not because of the glitter of jewelry, but because of her sincere smile. Even without special care, this flower still grows well, as if saying, "Relax, I can live alone."
However, behind its beauty, the allamanda also has a mysterious side. It is a poisonous flower. This is a little surprising—how can something so beautiful have such a dangerous side? But isn't that the case in life? Sometimes what looks the sweetest actually holds unexpected surprises. The allamanda taught me one thing: don't be fooled by outer beauty, because everything has a deeper layer.
Now, every time I see an allamanda on the side of the road, I always smile to myself, remembering how this flower was part of my childhood full of little adventures. It is not the most expensive flower, nor the most fragrant, but it still stands tall, spreading its bright yellow color, reminding me that beauty is often found in simplicity.
And I photographed this flower on the side of a rocky road in a village of unknown name when I passed that road on a Sunday afternoon.
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