Like love, friendships begin with a metaphor — sparkling, defiant — wild (the origin therefrom) – trust as rebellion! — but metaphors age into cliché and one must keep inventing. Like flowers in time, or moths, with metaphors the first contains the seed of the last. If one envisions, when it’s due, a season of new love, the creation of new metaphors rises just before “now” to anticipate “next”. Metaphors die but not the creation of them. So may it be with love, and friendship.