well, well, well; any

[Bowie]

This is Major Tom to Ground Control. I'm stepping through the door and I'm floating in a most peculiar way. And the stars look very different today. For here am I sitting in a tin can. Far above the world, Planet Earth is blue and there's nothing I can do.

The lovely purple beast can not resist the temptation of spring. He simply must emulsify himself in the flowery scent embrace and rub himself against the wildflower broached bosom.

The dark amethyst male wanders aimlessly through the sea of blossoms, lips occasionally snagging at a few petals to coax a smile from within as deep purple pools gaze outward with a thoughtful expression. There were oodles of horses wandering about just as he. Some had company, some didn't. Some were napping quietly against sturdy trees or in pools of sunlight. Bowie couldn't help but notice how pretty his glittered mane and tail shown in the sun's gaze...jealous of how the stallion sparkled so.

The stocking limbs male halts not far off from the edge of the meadow so he may find a proper meal while the grasses remain mostly untouched. Perhaps afterward he would indulge himself in a little conversation. The make enjoyed his nomadic life...no home of his own...tied to no one. He remained just out of reach, ethereal. The long snowy tail from his hind end flickers over the deep purple of his hindquarters, bits of glitter left in it's wake as he raises his skull to peer outward, a few bits of tender grass poking from the whiskered mug.

Bowie.