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“Monday,” said the grandmother. “Kwame— do you know where that name comes from?”

When the light of day faded and the world grew quiet, a silver wanderer rose into the sky. It changed shape — thin as a thread, then full and round — then disappeared, and came back again. The old sky-watchers called it the Moon and gave it a day all its own.

“And that wanderer,” said the grandmother, “gave its name to this day. In every language that inherited the old week, that memory is still there — sometimes hidden, sometimes clear.”

English edition — template preview