It was gray and quiet today. I made butternut squash soup laced with curry and cinnamon and thought about how much time gets wasted on things like television and worry and how both are their own sorts of addiction. I thought about how much I am looking forward to visiting this tree again near the end of October, around which there is neither television or worry. The tree that is, not the end of October. But it is true that, like cinnamon in soup, the comfort of something can spread so that maybe, over time, it won’t be just the tree with the tiny cabin on an island that is so warm and delightful but all the weeks around it, as well.