Chapter 168

Francisco has learned to fly solo, and yet flies to new heights and sees new views. When one can appreciate stability and ratify the peaceful day as a blank canvas, the room before you can be like the sky to a bird. He felt it was far better to fly alone, sing alone, and share the joy with himself, but it was a lonely road. He was alone. In villages and towns, he took any work he could find, if any could be found, if anyone was thoughtful enough to give work to a ragged young orphan. Bakery assistant, chimney sweep, mucking booths at livery stables and taverns, crawling through tunnels in a copper mine, and washing blood and offal from the floor in a butcher shop were among his many jobs.