The boy was surprised at his thoughts.

Maybe the church, with the sycamore growing from within, had been haunted.

It had caused him to have the same dream for a second time, and it was causing him to feel anger toward his faithful companions.

He drank a bit from the wine that remained from his dinner of the night before, and he gathered his jacket closer to his body.

He knew that a few hours from now, with the sun at its zenith, the heat would be so great that he would not be able to lead his flock across the fields.

It was the time of day when all of Spain slept during the summer.

The heat lasted until nightfall, and all that time he had to carry his jacket.

But when he thought to complain about the burden of its weight, he remembered that, because he had the jacket, he had withstood the cold of the dawn.

We have to be prepared for change, he thought, and he was grateful for the jacket's weight and warmth.

The jacket had a purpose, and so did the boy.