Walking in an old alley often reminds me that when it rained in the past, my friends and I walked in a deep alley with red umbrellas, but now I am alone. This sentence is not from a poem, but a self-titled couplet. It expresses the author's nostalgia and loneliness for the past.

The first part: Qingwa remembers the old rain, and bamboo umbrellas go deep into the alley for no reason.

Bottom line: the white stone is old in spring, and the five waters are old friends.

Rainy days are bound to be accompanied by umbrellas. From the original banana leaves, to the ancient oil-paper umbrellas, and now to all kinds of umbrellas, our history of sheltering from the rain seems to be as long as our own.

In Dai Wangshu's Rain Lane, the woman holding an oil-paper umbrella not only touched him, but also touched our heartstrings. Now on the way to school, colorful umbrellas are flowing everywhere, some go to the library, some go to the East District, and some stay in midsummer. I looked up at my rainbow umbrella. Many places looked old. Yes, it's been several years.

Under this umbrella, I argued with my friends, hurried to class after breakfast, and had a deep heart-to-heart conversation with my teacher ... Now only the sound of rain hitting the umbrella, the people under the umbrella or the people who walked with me with an umbrella may never get together again.