To Wales and the Wets

The 1930s tiled sign at Cardiff railway station points me on my way.
Home appears to be located inside a large soggy sponge.
Everywhere is saturated, soaked and sopping.
Slugs elbow me off the path.
The cats wake blearily from rain-induced torpor.
The chickens are already (or still?) in bed at 7pm.
More wet weather is heading for the west.

And I have a lot of catching up to do.