i was once a child of the rock, north america’s eastern-most landmass, newfoundland. it may be an island but it is approximately the size of portugal so it is a vast, sparsely-populated land of wilderness, surrounded by the icy waters of the north atlantic.inspired to capture some of its rugged cold and the vibrancy of its colors and the people who live on its harsh coastline, i have selected the spare and rigid form of the haiku, a visitor from another island nation not dissimilar in many respects.while japanese verse may feel a world away from the salt spray and fish-devoted life of traditional newfoundland, these are two cultures of the sea bound inextricably to her waves and currents, her gifts and the sacrifices she demands of her neighbors.journey with me across the island three lines at a time, from conception bay to the northern peninsula and back down to the west coast’s whale-soaked legacy. you won’t find stories here in the traditional sense but you may just smell the ocean’s spray if you close your eyes and breathe deeply the essence of the atlantic.