explores the melancholy dark side as well as the natural beauties of rural life as seen through the eyes of the author as a young man growing up in Blue Earth, Minnesota. When it rains hard, I think of the small ring I keep in a hollow book—   my grandmother and her small hands. She touches my cheek,   smiles.  I tell her my name again and for a little while sit with her, sharing the warmth of her shawl.   Then as the rain slows, I find myself alone again, and young, and I promise to be good.