Cecil Baldwin

But Ruth stared at the packets because it seemed to her that her daughter was spelling something out, a word in a language that neither of them understood.

And if Ruth could only decipher that word, then she would finally be free.

but she couldn't read it.

And soon enough, her daughter swept the salt packets back into their little container.

You seem to be doing okay, her daughter lied, because her flight was that afternoon and she didn't want to change it.

Yeah, I am.

I totally am, Ruth lied, because she did not know how to express the truth.

And now, Traffic

Humanity is about division.

A world of walls, of fences, of lines in the sand, of neat little dividers, of signs saying do not enter, of signs saying private property, of concrete medians and sunny little grass strips, of moats and decorative fountains, and other lines constructed of water.

of artificial beaches and artificial islands, of signs that say, members only or employees only, of languages that are unintelligible to each other but describe the same basic human experience, of people that imagine those around them to be profoundly different from themselves, of people who are working from a set of misunderstandings they aren't even aware exist.

This is what humans do.

They divide.

They map out divisions.

Well, today, one green Prius crossed one of these divisions, the division in the middle of Route 800.

The resulting crash has stopped traffic in both directions, and EMTs are on the scene to shake their heads sadly and mutter, what can be done?

Divisions can be harmful, but ignoring divisions, especially those in highways, can be even more harmful.

This has been Traffic.

Ruth got home from taking her daughter to the airport.

She placed her hands, which contained many tiny parts of the mechanism of her body, on the table.