Robin Hoselton
Photographs by Dawn Bonner

Sooner or later, it is inevitable that every love affair must end. Familiarity, or the intrusion of other interests invariable dulls the intensity of the most passionate romance. Mine was no exception. Its demise, however, was not caused by boredom, nor did other relationships interfere for I was loyal to my first love for nearly 45 years. Even now, my grief is still so fresh that I find it difficult to dwell upon.I remember the first time I saw him. For me, it was literally love at first sight. My mother and I were in the flower garden when he passed by and stopped to admire the lilacs.

Observing that I was smitten by his handsome looks, my mother tried to warn me about this old friend of hers. He was a drifter, she said, and would not stay past summer. But, I was naive and the possibility of making the acquaintance of this worldwide traveler made my heart flutter. I chased after him and spied upon him shamelessly. I learned that he had an appreciation of beauty that surpassed even my mother’s. He seemed as fascinated by flowers as I was by his footloose nature. Every Winter he took off for the sunny coast of California, leaving my bereft heart pining until his return in the spring.

As the years passed, environmental issues rose to prominence and, because of his celebrity status in the scientific community, my paramour’s lifestyle became newsworthy. Like paparazzi, wildlife journalists, TV nature editors, and biology text writers documented his yearly wanderings, described his penchant for wearing orange, and even noted his dining habits.It was while idly perusing one of these media exposes that I happened upon the shocking news that drove us apart forevermore. At first, I though I had read the words wrong, or that my stunned brain had misinterpreted what my eyes had seen, or (please, please) the author had made a mistake. Surely, that must be so.

That article haunted me and I found myself starting to think unkind thoughts about the one who held such a near and dear place in my heart. I had to find out for myself if he deserved to be exiled from my affection, so I began my own research on my roaming Romeo.

Painfully, I admitted that my studies corroborated the truth of my love’s sordid behavior. His sophistication was a sham. I had no choice but to terminate our relationship. It hurts. Oh, how it hurts. In spite of the fact that he brought such joy to my life, I know now that it was under false pretenses. Of course, I blame myself, too, for being so innocent. As the cliche’ goes, I am sadder now, but wiser.

I see him occasionally and I confess he still makes me smile. But, whenever I’m tempted to forgive and forget, I pull out that old article and re-read that terrible sentence: “The Monarch butterfly often feeds on manure.”

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