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Havdalah and the smell of cloves

My favorite prayer of the week takes about four minutes. Saturday night, three stars out, the braided candle lit, a cup of wine, the spice box passed around. My study group taught me the old idea that we're given an extra soul on Shabbat, the neshamah yeteirah, and that it leaves us at Havdalah. The spices are there to comfort the soul that stays behind. I think about that every week now, breathing in the cloves like it's a hug. Then we hold our fingers up to the flame to see the light on our nails, douse the candle in the wine with a little hiss, and say shavua tov. A separation between holy and ordinary, and somehow the ordinary week feels holier for it.