Prosy description:

Softly the night whispers in his ears of the faint memories of yesterdays that seem to forever recede beyond the horizon. A coon-wolf, you may call him a colf, lays there against a sycamore tree, silent, dozing off as he feels the light rain of starlight above trickle along his markings glowing a purplish-blue hue. The lull of the small cosmic warmth on his shoulders brings his eyes to rest, though his mind remains active. The hidden tranquil, golden-emblazed eyes were still fueled by the microcosm of life in his body. He lays there in his usual attire: a cobalt-colored collar shirt, some cool nebulae leggings, and a white undershirt matching his lower muzzle and creamy-smooth mane below his chin. Dreams fumigate his mind with the siren call of the future permeating the darken landscape under his slumber. Alone there, his presence left one with a sense of wonder; when gazed at, his glance captured the enigma of life held without diminishing its meaning. His gaze seemed to say: Here was a creature neither pious nor malevolent, neither moral or immoral, cast into the uncertainty, the beauty and the chaos of the cosmos that shared his soul's flare.