Hovering above in October's cloak, joining in prayer at dawn, . . .

Photo copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved.

a rare bird, a small raptor we name Hawk for his abilities, and I name Grandfather for whose he brings to me on Autumn wings.


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Wearing October's cloak, yet now a year-round relative, . . .

Photo copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved.

a rare bird, a giver of gifts, a messenger of spirits small and great.

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Joining me at morning prayers, . . .

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a rare bird, dressed in rusted iron and tanned hides and power, a messenger whose message I must work and wait to decipher.




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Visitor, guest, migrant, . . .

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a rare bird — coy, flirtatious, skittish, fierce . . . and fully home.



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Sentries and sin-eaters, . . .

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rare birds who stand watch in silhouette, their name a song of the four directions, upon the four winds.



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Named for royalty, for an ancient being, . . .

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a rare bird in this place, one with a fierce spirit and an insatiable hunger.



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Glossy iridescent cloaks and soft fluttering voices, . . .

Photo copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved.

rare birds from a warmer land, never before in this place, yet seemingly at home here for a single brilliant day.



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A September bird in October's cloak, . . .

Photo copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved.

a rare bird* whose melody is a lullaby of the Little People, whose message is the whistle of a strong heart and rushing wings.

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* Today, Hunger Road begins its next regularly-scheduled eight-day hiatus. For that period, we return to photos. 

I'm always interested in how words come to be, how names come to be, and never more so than when they are spoken in the language of my ancestors. I've done this with most of the photosets I've posted on this site, but without making it explicit until now: The text that accompanies each entry is an exploration, sometimes oblique, sometimes express, of the roots of names and the points of connection and separation between the branches of each root. I'm not inclined to explain; it ruins the flow. Simply know that this is where the text is birthed, where it lives and grows and transforms and evolves.

This time around, the theme is "Rare Birds." No, they are not "rare" in the sense of small numbers or endangered status. But each of them will possess some rare quality that makes them unique, whether it is something immanent in its identity and spirit, or merely in some way related the fact that I was able to capture its image — out of time, out of place.

We begin with what is, in this country, perhaps the most obvious bird, the first one whose name I knew as a child. However common, however obvious, however well-known, this little painted spirit of autumn here in this place is still a rare bird.



All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.