Listen to this story here:
Wait for a windy day. Heat up a little butter in the tallest stockpot you own, then dig out the biggest onion you can find. In all likelihood it will be hiding at the very back of your cupboard; the good onions always do that. Chop it up with a recently sharpened knife and toss the pieces into the pot. While the onion cooks, read a few pages from a book you haven't touched in ages, and if you like the way it sounds in your head, tear them out, crinkle them up, and add them to the onions. Don't worry about the missing pages; you'll remember how the story goes.
If you have any tiny potatoes, toss those into the pot, along with anything else with a thick skin, like that ugly little squash your neighbor handed to you over his fence, or the persimmons that have been sleeping for a week in your fruit bowl. Cook everything until it is so translucent it's hard to see it at all. Fill the remaining space with chicken stock, or vegetable stock, or the rainwater that has been coming down for weeks. Herbs are happy to be included here, a handful knotted tightly with twine and dunked to the bottom of the pot. By the time you've done all of this, it will be evening, and you will be getting hungrier than you thought possible. Maybe, then, there will be a knock at the door, an old friend. He will come with a loaf of hot bread under his arm, which you will tear pieces from with tingling hands. You will lean against the kitchen counter and talk about how quickly this year has gone by. He will check on the soup for you, and season it, and ask where you keep your fine china.
When the soup is ready, the whole house will be fragrant, and nearly all of the bread will be gone. You will tear the remaining piece in half and ladle the soup into porcelain bowls, licking a drop that lands on your thumb. Your friend will tell you a story about an island he once traveled to that was covered in fruit trees. "We could go there together," he offers. "There's plenty of time." It's past midnight when you finish your meal. Your guest has to leave, and so you change into your pajamas, and wash the makeup off your face, and pour the rest of the soup into tupperware to stack in the freezer. This way the soup will keep until you need it, even if that is years from now.