ūhta m
the last part of the night, before dawn
I came upon this word through my dearest friend and musician Jessie L Warren. It was the title of her first album steeped in all the moodiness and magic the pre-dawn brings, the perfect accompaniment to this post.
Uhta, the last part of the night before dawn, is the time I associate most with motherhood. In the summer of my second child's early months on earth, he woke always around 4 am and rarely went back to sleep before daylight had settled in and the rest of the world had started to go about their lives. In these pre-dawn moments, I would lay in bed as he gently sucked, savouring the last of the night milk, his tinny hand curled around my finger, the smell of him entwining with the cool of the morning. Sometimes tears of sheer exhaustion rolled down my face.
As summer turned into Autumn and then Winter, Sylver’s and my day did not cease to begin at Uhta. During the cold winter months, candles replaced the early summer light and a restless crawler did not allow me to stay in the comforting warmth of bed until the sun made an appearance. Instead, we played silent games in the living room as the ink-black sky turned into murky half-light. I would put the kettle on to make tea that was often left half full and cold.
As the wheel of the year spun and this tiny baby I had nursed in the quiet hours turned into a toddler the hours were not so quiet anymore. When the frosty mornings abated, we found ourselves out on the back veranda as I tried to keep him from waking his older brother. We watched the stars fade and the first rays of sun peep over the suburban rooftops as they made their way into our garden.
Sylver was born at 3:45 am on a summer morning. Born in Uhta it was as if his body clock would not reset. Eventually, those 3:30-4 am mornings started to stretch out until 4:40, gracing me with slightly more sleep, although he still woke multiple times a night.
In this time I learned the music of the pre-dawn. The kookaburras started first, rousing the other birds into song with their raucous laughter. The magpies chimed in once the light filtered through the night and the frogs quietened as the cicadas increased in volume. It felt like a world that was just for us.
When we moved across the sea these Uhta moments of ours did not cease but instead, we learned a new song. The howling of street dogs, the crowing of roosters and the call to prayer that drifted from the mosque down the valley through the palm trees, now greeted us in the dark morning hours. We recognised the thonged feet that passed our gate at the break of dawn as old Ibu’s as she came to tend her jungle garden. When we first arrived we would walk up the hills, Sylver strapped to me as I carried a stick in one hand to ward off street dogs who came a little too close and rocks in my pocket to ward off monkeys who got a little too curious. We could stand at the top of the valley and watch the moon set over one set of hills and the sun rise over another.
There have been so many dark mornings when I have resented these early starts to my day. I had not slept through the night since being pregnant with my first and the sheer exhaustion left me feeling inhumane most of the time. But as the little one started to wake only once during the night and his body clock finally started realising after 2 years that 6 am was a far more gentlemanly hour, my affair with Uhta continued. While his body clock was resetting, so was mine and all of a sudden predawn became my natural waking hour whether I liked it or not. But I realised, as exhausted as I was, I had grown fond of watching the moon dip behind the mountains as the stars twinkled. I lit incense and candles to cast light on my notebook, I started to claim this time as my own. Having these moments to myself, sometimes half an hour, sometimes one and a half has become a vital part of my day. In the dark, I can be alone with my thoughts. My mind can wander with my pen. I can savour every last drop of hot tea as I charge my batteries for the inevitable chaos that wakes with the sun.
In the dark of the morning, I now belong to myself, stealing from sleep for a moment of peace.
Now, in the mornings when the little ones wake in the dark before me, frustration builds quickly. I realise how hard it is to function without a moment of calm before the storm and how much I need Uhta to myself. I need this time of solitude. And when I get it I can sit here alone, warm cup in my hand and let time work its magic, fading the moments of despair along with the stars, leaving me instead with the sweet precious memories of this pre-dawn world that was once shared.
I would love to know who else is a morning person and if not, what is your sacred time? and how do you get through the day when you don’t get that?
This is such beautiful writing, Tansie. So calm and evocative and meditative.
I'm writing this as I lie awake at 4am, listening to the frogs calling out to the moonlit sky. We're on holiday in Malaysia but my body has become so used to the early-rising routine I've established in Beijing that I wake even when there are no school lunches to pack or buses to catch. I love this beautiful, heart-filled time of day, which gives me sustenance for all the craziness to come. Life with two boys, right? 😊
Thank you for filling this early morning with such beauty. 💕
So beautiful Tansie…i love the word uhta and the feel of it as you describe so evocatively. Over the past four years i too have become very well acquainted with the predawn hours. Despite the exhaustion there is a much beauty to be found there, the light in the summer and the air feels so different to any other time of day. I used to have a morning practice (before children) but now i can’t seem to leave sleeping children without them sensing it and so i don’t have that magical time to sink into the day…i yearn for quiet mornings as they are always sooo full on and i seem to be needed intensely from the moment eyes are open! However I am grateful that both children now seem to sleep a little longer (touch wood!) and i can get a little more sleep to equip me for the day. My new idea is to reintroduce a sort of morning practice on the three mornings i am able to take my two to nursery xx