I spent some months in Ecuador’s Amazon Basin teaching English. One nine-year-old student paddled himself and his seven-year-old sister in a dugout canoe a quarter mile across the swirling Napo River each morning to reach class. One day he asked about my family’s canoes. Not if we had any, but how many. 

I now have one, named Morpheus.


Morpheus is the God of Dreams. My grandfather used to proclaim, “I’m off to the arms of Morpheus” as he’d rise from his club chair on the way to bed. Morpheus’ father Hypnos oversaw sleep and his mother Pasithea held the reins of hallucination. My brother, at a disconcertingly advanced age, was forced to relinquish his pacifier into the Chattahoochee. He agreed when convinced it would sink into the light brown current and be utilized by a fish.

Morpheus’ brothers, Phobetur and Phantasos, live in his dream world. Phobetur dishes out the nightmares, Phantasos deals with ghosts, and Morpheus handles the rational stuff.

Morpheus is also a 16-foot Wenonah canoe, dark green. It will carry me, my paddle, a few bags, and an umbrella down the river.


One Response to “Morpheus”

  1. The Dude Says:

    Ever read ‘The Sandman’ by Neil Gammon? Illustrated novels that describe the world of the Lord of Dreams. Good reading for a long float?

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