Anonymous

Siamese Ponds Wilderness, Adirondacks, NY.
The second of three small ponds on the way to Peaked Mountain, this one is bordered to the southwest by a pair of low mountains, also without names. It is slightly off the trail, and I shake my head at myself as I realize I am creeping to her shore quietly, stealthily, as if I'm not supposed to be here. Spring hasn't grabbed hold yet, the slopes carrying only the slightest tinge of new lemon-lime leaf growth. The perfect reflection was disturbed a few seconds ago by a puff of wind while I fiddled with settings, but the shattered surface of the water is not imperfect, it's only in motion. Perfection is over rated anyways. Maybe it's better this has no name, I think. I can read--for now--about my destination, about Thirteenth Lake where I began this trail, about North River and North Creek and the Adirondack region. Reading is how I learn, my reference, another way to satisfy my exploratory interest. But learning is in trouble now, as is everything encompassed in liberty. How long before the books are burned, because they are tinged, somehow, with what someone thinks is offensive to the masses. Information that the masses don't need to know, because others want to decide what it is we need in our lives. We live in a world where mobs of useful idiots destroy what they are directed to, under the latest disguise of civic outrage, by the would-be new ruling class. As with Russia 1917, Germany 1933, China, Cambodia, the Taliban with the Buddahs, ISIS 2014-15 in the mideast...the steps to power were destruction of history and teaching the agenda. This time they taught the agenda first, through our learning institutions, and now generations of brainwashed fools do the bidding of the new elite, through media, and through misdirected and purposeful legislation. Few dare to stand up, to make waves, to suffer the name calling and ostracization. And when everything we've all worked for is redistributed, when the diversity

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Siamese Ponds Wilderness, Adirondacks, NY.<br />
The second of three small ponds on the way to Peaked Mountain, this one is bordered to the southwest by a pair of low mountains, also without names. It is slightly off the trail, and I shake my head at myself as I realize I am creeping to her shore quietly, stealthily, as if I'm not supposed to be here. Spring hasn't grabbed hold yet, the slopes carrying only the slightest tinge of new lemon-lime leaf growth. The perfect reflection was disturbed a few seconds ago by a puff of wind while I fiddled with settings, but the shattered surface of the water is not imperfect, it's only in motion. Perfection is over rated anyways. Maybe it's better this has no name, I think. I can read--for now--about my destination, about Thirteenth Lake where I began this trail, about North River and North Creek and the Adirondack region. Reading is how I learn, my reference, another way to satisfy my exploratory interest. But learning is in trouble now, as is everything encompassed in liberty. How long before the books are burned, because they are tinged, somehow, with what someone thinks is offensive to the masses. Information that the masses don't need to know, because others want to decide what it is we need in our lives. We live in a world where mobs of useful idiots destroy what they are directed to, under the latest disguise of civic outrage, by the would-be new ruling class. As with Russia 1917, Germany 1933, China, Cambodia, the Taliban with the Buddahs, ISIS 2014-15 in the mideast...the steps to power were destruction of history and teaching the agenda. This time they taught the agenda first, through our learning institutions, and now generations of brainwashed fools do the bidding of the new elite, through media, and through misdirected and purposeful legislation. Few dare to stand up, to make waves, to suffer the name calling and ostracization. And when everything we've all worked for is redistributed, when the diversity