Ai ia peit ia ki film series ba bun ki kren, hynrei nga iai wad ia ka jingbthah—kine ki kthaw pule bniah bad pyni ia ka jingthoh nyngkong ne ka jingpynthymmai? Ha shkulei, nga hikai ia ki khynnah ban pule na ki kitab kiba la pynshong niam, bad nga sngew ba ki film ruh ki dei ban don ka jingstad bad jinghikai ba shisha, ym tang jingthmu ban pynshlur. Katba nga ieit ban iohi ia ka jingiashem jong ka mynsiem ha ki phim, nga kwah ban ithuh niam ia ka jingpyrkhat ne ka jingjia ba shisha — kita ki ba lah ban pynlong ia ka jingioh jingmut ha ki khynnah jong nga.

Kum kum ki student ki ong "Teacher, phi leh kumno ban shong suk?"—nga shem ia ka jingim kum kane ka pebble uba nga shem ha lynti: ka don ka jingstad bad ka jingbha, hynrei ka donkam ka jingmut ban ia kynduh. Ha ka shkoll, nga hikai ia ki khun ba dei ban wad ia ka j

Akhui, my youngest—the one who still cries over maths—she told me yesterday that her favourite part of school is the lunch break when they sing the multiplication tables in rounds. I was thinking of that. Then I saw this programme about laughing and cooking, and I thought, if we could teach division the way they teach laughter on that show, maybe she wouldn't cry so much. But then I remembered the pine grove path: it doesn't need anyone's recipe to be beautiful. Just the mist, and the light sorting itself out.