There’s something hauntingly beautiful about the Newfoundland fog. Shrouding the coastline, it draws you in to its mystery. It smells of damp and of burnt ash at the same time. It heightens the senses, influences one’s mood, diffuses the landscape, envelops the soul.

Nestled under my feet, thousands of mini-mussels, left by the ebbing tide, to be covered again with the wash of the sea in due course.

As I strolled the flats of Queen’s Cove, I felt small, overwhelmed with nature, the muted tones of the mist covering over my worries of the day and giving me a newfound sense of freedom in the silence.