Florida was hot and sticky. Pennsylvania was hot and sticky.
Cymru benefits from the Gulf Stream. Decidedly not sticky, often wet, sometimes cool, but rarely sticky.
If it is raining, we are philosophical. Cymru is green and for green you need mountains of rain. Our bottled water industry sings and dances in welcome to each drop that filters through our rocky landscape to be captured for release to those linen-draped tables in fine dining establishments from New York to Seattle.
Bless the rain. In my absense, my pomegranate did not wither or crinkle. The same level of moss makes the terraced garden treacherous. The view from my window to the east up the Tywi Valley is as lush as the soggy day I rose before dawn to abandon all, without a backward glance, for the thunder and lightning of the Susquehanna River Valley and the steamy, concrete and asphalt subtropics of the Magic Kingdom.
Cymru is wet. We will wail and moan about our weepy clime. There is no help for that. Mae’n bwrw glaw yn sobr iawn.