The rain has been falling, sometimes slow and sometimes urgent, but there is no sign of stopping.

I walked slowly on the road without an umbrella and let the rain hit me. I look down at those puddles from time to time, and the rain drops in the puddles, causing ripples, as if there is a smile hole, and a little smile is made. Bubbles like goldfish's big eyes appeared on the water. Looking forward through the falling rain, I happened to see a pair of passers-by The mother carried her daughter's schoolbag and helped her open an umbrella.

This scene is familiar, no, it's too familiar, just like when my mother and I were kids.

Every rainy day in primary school, whenever I rush out of school after school, I will always see my mother's familiar figure. My mother always greets me when I leave school. Whether I like it or not, she took the schoolbag off me, carried it on her back, and covered my clothes with an umbrella.

My mother pulled me, fearing that I might have a "close contact" with the rain or the ground if I was not careful. But I always walk unsteadily. Step into the puddle for a while, and reach out to pick up the naughty raindrops for a while.

Sometimes, when my clothes are wet and my shoes are wet, I will be surprisingly quiet. My mother saw me so quiet and asked, "Is my clothes wet?" I looked down guiltily: "No," he said, while secretly wiping wet sleeves on my back. The sleeves were not dry, but my back was wet.

Mother smiled helplessly, thinking that I was in a coma, and tilted her umbrella towards me. When I got home, there was no wet place except on my sleeves and back. Besides, my mother is mostly wet.

Suddenly, I miss that big umbrella. Surrounded by it, it will be blocked regardless of the wind and rain outside. There is a warmth of home in the big umbrella, but now ...

Unconsciously, it has reached my door, and the mother and daughter have disappeared.

Water drops drop by drop along my skirt, my hair sticks to my face, and thin water flows into a drop at my chin and then drops down.

I took a deep breath, slowly pushed open the door and walked to the room. Without warning, a hand that is not slender and full of calluses is stretched out next to it. It is a dry towel with some white hair. "Wipe your hair." Turning my head, I saw a familiar face. It was my mother.

This humble move seems to add a warmth of home. It seems to touch the softest place in my heart. Originally this warm not fade away, but I was too careless! This warmth may make my cold heart flexible!