Night Row by Daryl Muranaka Alone, in the dark, the baby sleeping in the tent—at last!— the canoe cuts through the blackness. Gurgling water beneath the skin of the canoe. Our feet absorb the vibrations. The blade of the oar whispers along, feeling, always feeling for the rocks that lurk below. The moon’s full light is swallowed into the night. The only sounds— the little creatures calling to us from shore. Gyroscope Review 12 !