There’s something to the cult of the winter coat.
The security of wrapping up in layers or one giant puffer. The assurance of a soft protective shell holding off a chill… the vacuum of deep space…a place to hide.
A comfort mapped in childhood. Waiting on a large yellow machine collecting students on a bitter, cold day. Pulling oneself back into the folds of a winter coat with bright stripes. Smelling of home and security.
The essential heat the cells of the body release. Garmets stuffed and sewn to harvest the warmth. Surviving on your own radiation.
Perhaps proof you are as real as the sun and stars that emit the same thermal energy.
And yet, you have a surplus. Perhaps excess to share with another being. An animal or human exposed to the same absolute zero.
Until the Earth tilts and the Sun irradiates its children again.
Overheard on a Mountaintop 