Ron Rozelle's new novel, Touching Winter, is a four-part-evocation of memory and place and the yearning for home. Each part of the novel begins with a meditation on one aspect of the protagonist's life as he watches the unpredictable weather of East Texas. When Will was a young boy, he and his grandfather enjoyed being out in the spectacular East Texas storms. These sessions taught Will many things about life--ranching, weather, character, how to be a man--and bound Will to the family land and to his grandfather. Only at the ranch does Will feel like the person he was, or would like to be, before wrong decisions turned his life down an entirely different path. A powerful, early romance proved disastrous, and the relationship haunts him. To compensate for lost love, Will carved a niche for himself in the competitive concrete industry, inventing a technique to make mixing trucks more efficient and becoming wealthier than he could have dreamed. His marriage to a Houston socialite is thin and brittle, unsatisfying for his wife, Lauren, and for himself. Their daughter Aimee lives in California, as far away from her family as possible. As Will ages, he turns to the ranch as a place of clarity in times of crisis, eventually moving back there entirely. He exchanges the public life he and Lauren led in Houston for the simplicity of walks along the rustic fence, lunch with old friends at the town's only diner, and long evenings on the porch watching the stars. Along the way, a fierce, red-breasted hawk comes to represent the spiritual for Will, and he is forced to face the consequences of earlier decisions. "After his soup and crackers he came out here, not interested in the inane offerings ontelevision on such a splendid night. All those years away from here-down in the flat, concrete and steel landscape of Houston--he missed this porch. These hills. These stars. This porch swing, and the larger one that once hung here. He finds Orion, the hunter, in a sky packed with stars. It is a clear, cool night that often precedes a big norther, as if Nature has done a good cleaning, making sure everything is scrubbed bright before the onslaught of a particularly rambunctious visitor. He listens for geese; hopes for them. For the reassurance of their presence, of things moving along... None yet. So far there's just been the sound of a car as it passes, and the slight rustling of leaves in the giant cottonwood that was already old before he was born."