The Village That Lost Its Wednesdays
In the village of Thistledown, Tuesday ended and Thursday began. Wednesday simply did not come. People did not notice at first, because the sun still rose and the roosters still crowed. But the bakers ran out of bread, since Wednesday was the day they baked. The school bell stayed silent, and the library doors stayed shut.
Tamsin, who was twelve, decided to find out where Wednesday had gone. She asked the old clockmaker, who sniffed and said, "Days have feelings, you know. Wednesday is stuck in the middle, and nobody ever throws a party for it."
That night Tamsin searched the village and found a small, gray shimmer curled up inside the cold bakery oven. It looked like a day that had worn itself out. "Everybody loves the start of the week and the end of the week," whispered Wednesday. "I am just the part in between."
Tamsin thought hard. The next morning she hung a banner across the square that said MIDDLE DAY MARKET. The baker brought warm loaves, the farmers brought apples, and the children played music on pots and spoons. All day long the villagers cheered for the middle of the week.
When the sun set, the gray shimmer in the oven glowed a bright, buttery gold. The following week Wednesday arrived right on time, and Thistledown has held a market on that day ever since.