luminary

Come, let me tell you a story.
Before daylight existed, a glowing seed drifted into our night village. Adaora the weaver pressed it to her heart 
gold threads ripped the sky, birthing dawn. 
We named the sun Ọdụm: Answer-That-Keeps-Asking. 
When darkness returns, be small, be bright, be brave.

Odum in the palms of Adaora,
The village weaver whose hands like broom straws guides the light of the new light

Odum in the palms of Adaora,
The village weaver whose hands like broom straws guides the light of the new light

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