I was driving one of my sons to one of his many activities on Monday evening. The thunder I’d heard in the afternoon was no long rumbling, and the rain had subsided from pounding to merely steady. As we crossed the one-lane bridge on Route 116, I glanced down at the New Haven River. It was swollen and murky — too high to invite fishing — but not quite at flood stage. I was surprised. Despite the tapering off of the rain, I’d been expecting the water to be even higher.