A revelation of a wonderful speculation popped up while riding my luxury carriage – also known as bus 57, the other day. I was sort of fake reading “The Gum Thief” (staring at the words while challenging myself in guessing the colour of the next traffic light, therefore causing the distraction of the book as I found myself fake reading.)
As I turned the page with no intention to actually reading the next one, I was promptly confused by the two words my twinkie of a finger had located. Two words now causing distraction in my private traffic light prediction, which was already distracting me from whatever chance I had of understanding this book, and the these two words had now become the headquarters of my full attention. …bird yawn. Hm. Bird yawn. Bird yawn? I don’t know in what kind of Harry Potter world this dude have seen birds yawn, but I can only imagine he must have been trapped inside the body of Alice in Wonderland where cats pops out of the thin air, and caterpillars smokes. However, my bird observations don’t reach much further than the absence a beautiful singing sound coming from a raven. Poor things. They sound more like a disappointed deer in breeding season. My head was banging trying to think of a time in my life, where I’ve seen a bird yawn and it just wasn’t stored anywhere. Imagining the process of a bird yawning turned out to be extremely difficult as well. If they do yawn, is this awkward peak opening caused by tiredness and a reaction of their brain needing oxygen? And if this glorious moment have ever occurred in the wild – can one bird look at another bird while yawning, and cause this victimized bird to yawn as well – even though it wasn’t tired? There I was. A random passenger with one random thought. Do birds yawn? I just don’t get it.