Iâ€™ll Leave the Light On
Copyrighted by Lorna Tedder. Originally published in Crimes to the Third Degree.
Sometime past midnight, I am sitting at my computer, making some last-minute changes to â€œDark Revelationsâ€ and focused completely on the work and nary a thought of anyone else or anything else. Just finishing the line edits and getting them back to my editor in New York.
I get a flash of something that surprises me. All of a sudden, I feel it…see it. Outside my house, somewhere between twilight and night and only a few steps my front door. I can see it. My door. Green, the way I repainted it in that light turquoise color and with peach-colored bricks around the entrance.
I feel myself moving forward, and Iâ€™m either riding on this manâ€™s shoulders or riding in the back of his mind. I tend to think the latter because I feel a tremendous sense of anticipation and excitement in the pit of his stomach.
Thereâ€™s surprise, too. He isnâ€™t expecting my door to be green. Heâ€™s thinking itâ€™s some other color. The gray it used to be before the planters of orange and purple flowers arched over the doorway.
Heâ€™s close to my doorâ€”only two strides or less and heâ€™ll be there. Already I feel his arm lifting, reaching out, either to knock or to press the doorbell. He doesnâ€™t realize yet that the doorbell is broken.
More compelling than the physical advancement I feel is the flash of emotion. The excitement. Anticipation. Intensity.
I jump up from the computer and run to the door. I turn on the light outside and peer through the window beside the door. No oneâ€™s there. I turn off the outside light but leave the light in the foyer on.
I go back to my work, back to the last pages of the project and my bright red pen. But I canâ€™t work.
Thereâ€™s still a sensation of someone walking to my doorâ€”anxious, wanting, excited.
I run back to the front door and flip on the light outside, then swing the door wide as I walk out. I stare up at the disseminating moon almost directly overhead. Thereâ€™s a bit of chill in the air but it feels good.
Just as I turn to walk back inside, at the exact spot where I felt his hand rise to knock at my door, there is a huge beautiful pale green luna moth. I havenâ€™t seen one in 20 years, at least.
I run inside to grab my camera, turning out the lights as I go. Iâ€™ve heard luna months can glow in the dark.
As a totem, its message is one of changes, and of life lifting up. A symbol of transformation, and in a much lighter way than in the past.
Moths are attracted to flame, to light. Perhaps the moth sensed the light in my house and thatâ€™s what drew him to my window. But the light is out, and by the time I return with the camera, the moth is gone.
I turn my light back on. Itâ€™s an invitation.