If you stop and ask a flower or a dog about how their Thursday is going, they will almost certainly look at you quizzically and respond “What is a Thursday?” And that makes sense, as humans are the only ones that know about days of the week. To the rest of the planet, there is no difference between a Monday and a Sunday. To the foxes, there is no day of worship. To the turtles, there is no painful return to work. While seasons are a thing based in the reality of zeniths and axes, days with names are a product of humanity’s imperialism. We use them to schedule our lives, check off boxes and organize a lifetime of events into seven categories.
But I am still waiting on evidence that it’s necessary.
Blooms don’t look brighter on one of the seven.
Birds don’t sing sweeter.
I am not sure Day needs any letters before it.
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