By Dan Roark
I was coming back from my show at The Barrel House in Winnsboro last Wednesday night – the night of the torrential rains. When I left, there was a misleading pause in the rain. It was not long before it came back with a steady, vicious, vengeance.
The weather people were not wrong about the flash floods. The rain was freaking relentless. Which rendered the GPS as useless as the empty cracker wrapper that ended up in the floorboard. I found myself in the middle of nowhere East Texas on two lane roads that weren’t really safe on a good day, much less after near continuous rain for hours on end.
I’m not quite sure exactly how it happened. Suddenly, I was careening off the road to the right. It would have helped if the tires were actually connecting with the ground. I turned the wheel and was headed to the left side. I think the van may have actually made a 360 degree turn. I remember praying that it wouldn’t end up on it’s side. When the tires caught the dirt and the van finally stopped, I was facing to the right. As I tapped the gas to make sure the van was still running, I was staring at a fence I was very happy was not closer. (The happiness was masked at the time by shear fear mixed with absolute confusion.)
With no other cars on the road, I took time to breath and a motion caught my eye. A brown horse was running from my right to my left. There was enough light to know it was brown. She was running like she was frightened, or at the least agitated, with mane flying. She looked and acted like a mare to me. The constant rain with occasional lightning and thunder had probably gotten on her nerves and the noise of the van skidding certainly didn’t help.
But it was a few seconds suspended in time. Just me and the mare. She looked like a phantom horse, with every thing else a seeming shadow. It seemed as if every move she made was directed at me.
I had no idea where I was. Actually, that’s only partly true. I knew where all the relatively bigger towns in East Texas are located. On a sunny day, with the light combined with my sense of direction, I could have gotten home with considerably less problem. But it was pitch black with hard rain. My sense of direction was on vacation.
When I finally came to the conclusion that I had to completely abandon GPS, I stopped at a 24 hour gas station/convenience store that seemed to be the outermost corner of a street that resembled more civilization than I had seen since leaving Winnsboro . The couple operating the store was friendly, helpful, and East Texas to the core. The man had a moustache and a beard down to his chest. He had a high voice and her voice was lower. She even unlocked the bathroom to let me use it. That’s how friendly they were.
As it turns out, I wasn’t so far off after all, even though most of my sense of direction had washed away in the constant rain assaulting the windshield after my frightening carnival ride on a rain soaked section of East Texas backroad. A stop sign and a stop light and I was on Hwy 80 headed to Dallas. It wasn’t much longer before I was home, drinking beer with the drive back running through my head on repeat. Not too long after that my nervous system calmed down enough to let me go to bed, comfortable in the knowledge that I was still alive and the van was still running like it should. I was also remembering a good show. So naturally, I dreamed about the horse.
Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.
Peace be with you.
Chasing After Wind 