An art trade I did with  groovypants.
It was marvy writing this for you, man.
I pictured it all in my head, and it all just came out all smooth and flowing.

---

The warm Kansas evening sun flows in the worn windows of the van. A gray wolf sits behind the thin steering wheel, a lit cigarette limply perched between his lips. The safari window in front of him is cracked to let the smooth June air through his gray fur, through his clothes, billowing his shirt outwards, and letting it flop back gently onto his furred chest. His smile is calm, natural, as carefree as a fish in a big blue lake.
The old Volkswagen chugs its sweet tone as it puffs along the old interstate. No one passes by him as he rolls past different fields. They all look like flowing seas of life, the wheat, soybeans, and corn fields. He smiles as the smoke from his burning cig furls about the interior of the worn bus. the golden sunbeams catch the rays of smoke and loose fur floating about the sparse interior of his craft. A worn sitar case sits in the backseat, and a suitcase, covered with stickers of destinations he has never been to, sits softly on the seat next to his. The seat bounces up and down as he hits the cracks in the worn road, making him jostle, and grin. His bare feet feel the pedals of the Volks, the worn rubber, covered in dust and mud, dirt from last nights stay in Oklahoma. He recalls the night, as he wiggles his toes amongst the things on the floor. He recalls warm May nights, when the crickets chirped, and the moon shone so full, you could swear it was less than an arms reach away.
He clicks on the old FM radio, and hears a familiar tune. The words naturally flow out of his mind, through the air to the song so feebly amplified out of the old speakers of the van. It makes him think of the way things ought to have been when he first went on this cross-country adventure-cum-way of life. He wishes he had known then what he did now, and he scratches his unkempt beard resting on his chin. He smiles and feels as though with each night he sleeps out alone in the American midwest, the more enlightened he becomes, the more he learns of the ways of life out here, the more he discovers about people, and more importantly, himself.
A dream catcher dangles from the rearview mirror of the jalopy. Made from bits of string and borken glass, the light refracts and twinkles, leaving dancing bits of light bounding off the walls of the bus. The charm keeps him thinking of the different people he meets when he travels. His muzzle twitches when the light hits his eyes, but he doesn't mind it. Anything that keeps him smiling is a good thing.
The sun sinks low in the sky, creating a marvelous mauve shade, interlaced with shades of orange, red, yellow, and pink. He smiles a broad smile, and glances down at his shirt, practically the same colors. The evening cools, the crickets chirp, and the wolf cannot wipe the smile off his face. In a heartbeat, his happiness is uncontrollable. With a short yip, a freshly lit cigarette, and a push of his foot, the Volkswagen lurches onwards with a new enthusiasm, to conquer the obstacles that life would lay before him, and the van speeds off into the sweet country night.