You could fill a dictionary with categories of Welsh rain. But as I queue, waiting to summit Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon), the rain is ‘cloaking’ (verb). Shortening of: “It’s coming down like a witch’s cloak.”
Experienced at high altitudes, this grey, mysterious squall of damp wet mist magically appears across mountaintops disguising everything it doesn’t want you to see. It’s like being inside a television stuck on static. Visibility reduces from “wow is that Ireland I can see?” to “when did I get cataracts?” See also: “It’s raining rats and frogs.”
