Osler's Razor

Yesterday, I was determined to finish grading the Criminal Practice exams. By mid-afternoon, it became clear that I would have to hide if I was going to accomplish this, because of the flood of well-intentioned visitors to my office. I headed off to the perfect secret lair: Moody library on the main Baylor Campus. No one would look for me in the library! And I was right.

As dusk fell over the campus, I headed for home. Walking to the car, though, I heard some music. It was one of those twilights where the sky seems huge, the air is clear, and every cell of the body knows that it is spring. The music was a dialectic-- first a series of high, clear notes followed by several others, these less certain. I followed the sound to the edge of College Creek, where I found Prof. Wiff Rudd (pictured here) instructing a semi-circle of trumpet students in the open air. It was mesmerizing; his playing was so tight and beautiful that the point seemed as much to be aspiration as repetition for the students.

After a while, I wandered back to the car and watched the crimson light fade, and hoped that I could find a way to teach that well.