Bone Deep

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The rains began in April-the usual innocent sprinkles that accompanied spring-and they did not stop until mid-June, growing more severe with time. It rained by day and night, four days a week, five days a week, in a persistent shower that seemed to pause only to gather strength before continuing to pour. The winter had been hard, one of the worst on record, and at first the waters seemed to stand upon the face of the earth as if in a pan, unable to penetrate the still-frozen subsoil, as if Connecticut had been transported to the permafrost of Siberia. But then they sank and did their annual restorative work underground, replenishing the wells and the reservoirs and the water table. Lakes filled again and ponds began to swell. Rivers rose and the countless rills and streams that wound their way through the backyards and open woods of the little town of Clamden took on unaccustomed vitality.

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