When Ink Becomes Air


The nature of this writing life has me showing up to the blank pages. Simply because they ask me to. Beg me even sometimes. Waiting patiently and eagerly all at the same time. Always meeting me exactly where I am. Allowing for my willing or not so willing participation. To extract fragments of my soul and color with them. A sort of paint by numbers, connect the dots, and chutes and ladders til I climb out with some hidden gem riding just below the surface. Waiting to be spotted with the gold it holds. Letting me hold it all up to the light for my own delight.

Such is the life of a writer. You can take the pen out of her hand, but you can’t take the hand out of the pen that wants to write through her.


It’s my art

My soul’s ink

that my spirit writes with

Color for my human

Deciding and deciphering the proper hues

that flaunt my courage

and wild audacity

Painting with my prose

With my favorites

that I chose

Loving multiple shades

that create different ranges

Keeping nothing in a box

Like Human Crayola’s

Seeing the beauty in the broken ones

and not feeling the need to toss them aside

or tape them back together

Letting it all be

Just as it is

Seeing the bigger picture

in vivid bold color

Somber tones

and faint soft pastels

Layers beneath layers

No longer covered up

Bleeding through beautifully

to display the divine work of art

it has always ever been…

~Audra Erwin

The “High on Life” Coach



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Audra Erwin High on  Life Coach