Katrina Woznicki

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Author: katrina

Who Speaks for the Trees?

Posted on July 1, 2014July 6, 2015 by katrina

Hiking Rocky Mountain National Park is always a quieting experience. The park marks its 100th anniversary as protected land next year, and although we like to think of our national parks as “timeless treasures,” Rocky Mountain National Park and others like it across America are beginning to show their age. It’s like seeing a friend…

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Getting Our West-of-the-Mississippi Fix

Posted on June 21, 2014June 23, 2014 by katrina

In the thick of another hazy morning in downtown Los Angeles, my thoughts were clear. We had spent too much money on travel in 2013, and I knew we had to change our ways. A two-week summer trip that combined Los Angeles with Monterrey would be expensive (and totally awesome, but expensive), and if 2014…

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Why Reykjavik Rocked: A City for Writers

Posted on May 13, 2014May 13, 2014 by katrina

Is it strange to visit a place where you’ve never been to before and where you don’t know the language and to feel totally at home? I’ve been living in the New York City burbs now for over a decade and still don’t feel at home, but I travel to Reykjavik for the Iceland Writers…

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The Problem With Travel

Posted on May 1, 2014May 2, 2014 by katrina

Two weeks after Iceland, I’m still thinking about Iceland. The land is a mood that follows you. It lingers, like the scent of a campfire coming from your clothes days after the fire has died out. Describing its craggy lava fields, its velvety swaths of green moss, the silence of the mountains that watch over…

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How the Writer Sjón Turned An Idiot Into a Fan Girl

Posted on April 13, 2014April 20, 2014 by katrina

This is a story about me being an idiot. Truly. It begins on the living room floor in the home of Halldór Kiljan Laxness, a son of Iceland, a Nobel Prize-winning author, and a guy with great taste in art. And the story ends in the candy aisle of a gas station about a half…

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Recent Work

OFFASSIGNMENT: 6:32 A.M. AT BOUDHANATH STUPA in Kathmandu is a rapid current of silence and hope, a clockwise ritual that welcomes me without question. I can come. I can go. I can pray. I can walk and pretend to pray. It is the hour of the observant, of chants and prostrations, of prayer and potential... continue reading

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