The story is the rain and all of the creatures who have lived in it, despite of it and because of it, for the last two weeks. There are the swallows, skilled aerialists who skim the surface of the water with breathtaking speed, the toads, who hide themselves indifferently beneath the emerging leaves of stinging nettle, the deer, munching dolefully on the flourishing wildflowers and grass, and the squirrels, who never seem to notice the weather.  There are more, of course, including the boys and I and our freezing hands and wet jeans and soggy trash. We are all out there together, on the river, watching the raindrops paint circles on the water.