When I used to ride horses, my favorite part was touching their necks and butts— warm, solid, alive. In winter they would steam like living furnaces.
A horse’s butt always feels like it's hiding a sun.
One day I happened to touch my own butt.
It was… cold. A quiet, icy slap from reality: “You haven’t moved in a while, darling.”
Since then, I started secretly monitoring my butt temperature, like running a private scientific experiment. And I noticed: after movement it becomes warmly alive, but when I'm sedentary… it turns into a refrigerated tofu block.
Which made me wonder: Why are animals consistently warm all over, while humans are divided into temperature zones like our own personal climate map?
Maybe the butt— the most overlooked part of human anatomy— is actually our diagnostic soil. A place where the truth grows quietly.