Rain and thunderstorms. High around 80F. Winds ESE at 5 to 10 mph. Chance of rain 90%..

Scattered showers and thunderstorms. Low 72F. Winds ESE at 5 to 10 mph. Chance of rain 50%.

I endured the most miserable couple of days last night.

The hiccups woke me up at about 1 a.m., and then again about 3, and again about 7. The first time was short; I drank some diet soda and that seemed to take care of it. I went back to sleep. Like a World War II soldier with an automatic weapon, I thought I had triumphed over the enemy with a burp gun … until I woke up again.

The malady renewed the attack, and soda didn’t help. I tried a peanut butter sandwich. That didn’t help either. After an hour or so of sipping and munching, I finally went back to sleep. I don’t know why I didn’t continuously “hick” myself awake, but I was grateful.

Somehow I managed to get up for good non-spasmodically. But before long it struck again. After so much suffering, I finally managed to be philosophical about it: what the hey, life has its hiccups and downs.

The spasms finally stopped after a while through some miracle of grace. But even so, something continued to bother me. A restless feeling plagued me like a worrisome pebble in the shoe of my brain. Like I had missed something.

It gradually dawned on me. I had gotten up and moved around some during the night, like an overdue pregnant woman trying to walk her baby into the world. But when I went into the kitchen with all its south-facing windows, it seemed strangely illuminated.

Rain and clouds had plagued us for days, and I had gotten used to the nights being very dark and uninviting. I often roam the unlit rooms after everyone has gone to bed to walk off the stiffness in these dinosaur bones. Like the ghost of Patsy Cline, I go walking after midnight.

So I walked up to the Venetian blinds, lifted them, and there it was. The full moon. As if she had rolled back the clouds just to say that she hadn’t forgotten me.

Is she an Amazon? The orb of light beamed down like a single breast, her sister breast having been removed. The Amazons of old did that in order to shoot their bows more efficiently. Modern Amazons do that so there are half as many boobs to get in the way as they handle all the packages in their shipping business.

She looked so serious, rolling back the darkness with her conquering illumination. But she has a sense of humor too. When I complained to her about being tormented by the hiccups, she leaned down and whispered, “Well, what do you expect, my dear? You yourself are just a country hick.”

Actually, it would be my mom and dad who hail from the beautifully bucolic areas of our beloved Southland. They grew up on the farm, I grew up in the boring suburbs. But I probably still inherited some degree of hick-itude. (Or is it hick-ness? Hick-ality? The English language is inadequate to express the glories of our culture.)

I love it when a pretty lady playfully insults me, so I felt like all was right with the world. My journey into the chasms of the spasms had served a purpose, had treated me to a vision of beauty and light.

So when you are experiencing that torturous dark night of the hiccup ... stop, breathe, look up.

Like the good witch of “The Wizard of Oz,” the moon may be smiling down on you, filling your world with a mysterious illumination. Just enough light for you to see the next few steps forward even when the more distant future is dim. Look up and smile back at the beautiful goddess of the night.

But be polite; don’t burp in front of her.

Harvey Estes is a nationally published puzzle master whose Pitt County Crossroads alternates with his column in The Daily Reflector every other week. He lives in Pitt County north of Greenville.

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