Author Archives: Katie Napiwocki

A Vixen Scream: Navigating Sex and SMA

It cried out in the dead of night. The wild call erupted like the sensual panic of a volcano beneath placid moonlight. My partner, Andy, was helping me get situated in bed for the night when the startling sound rang from the woodland edge outside our bedroom window.

An Aquarian With SMA Packs for the New Year

When each human is born, a map of ethereal territories is drawn up in a distinct way.  For every passing minute and hour within a calendar date, an interior designer of celestial proportions is commissioned to align the stars, planets, and moon in a timeless fashion. Like…

Finding My Voice Within the Disability Community

I don’t prefer the phrase “disabled person.” It isn’t a go-to accessory item regularly pulled from my colorful closet of self-descriptors. Before we go any further, let me assure you: If you describe yourself in this way, I’m wholly accepting of you and your perspective. I welcome your…

Some Trails Are Buddy Trails

Today is thought to be my sweet beagle’s 11th birthday. Even if it’s not her actual birthday, it’s still her unbirthday — and to any fan of imaginative literature, an unbirthday is a worthy touchstone of celebration in its own right. Our beagle, Eva, was a rescue.

Spinning Webs of Resilience

I’ve been grieving this month. On some days, the weather was impeccable. Morning dew twinkled on silk linens of freshly spun spiderwebs. The air smelled of sun-crisped leaves dipped in salted caramel. Other days were filmed in grayscale. Winds howled through my window frames. Ragged clouds hung in the sky,…

The Crackling Intimacy of an Autumn Campfire

Come, sit beside me at my campfire.  How about some apple cider or hot cocoa on this crisp autumn night? It’ll warm your bones. Help yourself to a s’more. I haven’t yet figured out a pumpkin spice recipe, but my maple version is some kind of dynamite. Would you…

A Narwhal Pierces Through Azure Ceilings

On my writing desk sits a narwhal.  Not an actual narwhal from arctic waters. That would be absurd.  It’s a stout piece of pottery I painted alongside my niece last winter. We sat together at a creative clay studio, sharing paintbrush swirls and rainbow palettes and giggles.

A Season for Bumblebees and a Time for Warriors

It’s late August.  The songs written by crickets in May have been arranged into full summer soundtracks, playing on loops of background music from dawn to dusk and moonrise to moonset. The aroma of sun-baked leaves swirls about golden afternoons.  By now, that usually means my outdoor patio…