Chill has a way of climbing right inside my bones, raising bumps over any exposed skin that touches the frigid air. Not a real cold cold but seeming unseasonably enough to make a blanketed bed de rigour in the midafternoon.
Being a creature of the northern hemisphere I naturally enjoy the chill as much as the warmth, finding differences in climate equally homely and comfortable. Creeping age certainly makes warmer more obviously comfortable, the level of additional heat required to elicit ease becoming increasingly high. Adequately warm but not roasting, equatorial highs are still uncomfortable on my flesh, make sleeping fleet and disturbed, diet difficult with the foods that are generally inclined to moisten my mouth and rumble tummy. Hot, or at minimum warm drinks fit the bill, iced beverages are not seductive, indeed tepid is the ideal temperature for simple refreshing hydration.
We exactly remain what we are birthed our entire lives, as the dessert lynx, or snow tiger, we are constructed for purpose and place.