The Yawning Mountain

At the end of the valley there was a great mountain. An old, green, calm mountain. In the daytime it sunbathed, watched the clouds and let the goats wander over its back.

When evening came, the mountain yawned.

But a mountain's yawn is no ordinary yawn. When the mountain yawns, first the trees in the forest yawn. The leaves sigh "haaah," and the branches go loose.

Then the stream yawns. Its water slows, its babbling grows soft, the fish go down to the bottom.

Then the cows in the village yawn. Moooo... but a sleepy, endless moooo.

Then the dogs yawn and curl up their tails. The cats yawn and curl up on the windowsill. The hens yawn and climb onto their perches.

Then the yawn enters the houses of the village. Through the chimneys, through the windows, under the doors. The fathers yawn, the mothers yawn. And at the very last, the children yawn.

Have you yawned yet? If you haven't, wait a little. The mountain's yawn is coming from far away; it passes through the trees, the stream, the cows and the dogs, and reaches you.

There, it has come. Haaah...

The mountain closed its eyes. The valley went dark. Everyone slept.

Only the moon stayed awake; because the moon was so high up that it could not hear the yawn even the mountain could reach. Never mind. Somebody has to stay awake.