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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