In spite of hats, coats and candles, we’re cold and fear is in the frosty air: for our own health, that of others, for the planet, our families, businesses and love affairs, paintings or projects. We’re afraid of moving and changing, the process by which butterflies leave the chrysalis, a new-born baby first cries, tearing open her lungs. Stagnating’s not an option. Time taunts us: the ticking clock mocking our bodies, no longer young, a slow decoupling from our sister moon. We walk in silent meditation round the high, granite-strewn pool, seeing, as we step with care, a frill of…