ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Leigh Spencer is a fourth-generation eldest of eldest, a Matakite (seer), and a lifelong listener to the natural world. From a young age, Leigh experienced vivid inner knowing, ancestral recall, and a deep sense of continuity across time — connections that felt natural and unremarkable to her, even when the language to name them was absent. She grew up in Aotearoa (New Zealand) during a period when Māoridom was actively discouraged, particularly in the South. In her father’s generation, speaking te reo Māori (the Māori language) was suppressed, and as a result, much cultural knowledge and everyday tradition were lost or silenced. Leigh was raised largely Pākehā (of European cultural practice), despite her whakapapa (genealogy). She grew up in Murihiku (the far south of the South Island), in Southland, carrying an unspoken inheritance she would come to recognise only later in life. Her iwi is Kāi Tahu (Southern Māori). Her European ancestors include early whalers and sealers, and her great-great-great-grandmother, Mere Te Kauri, married James Spencer, who came from the British Isles and became a whaler and sealer based in Motupōhue (Bluff). That convergence of Māori and European lineage — land and sea, endurance and adaptation — continues to shape Leigh’s work.

This oracle deck was born of a lifetime love of birds. Both of Leigh’s parents, Greig Spencer and Anne Spencer, shared that love. Her mother, in her eighties at the time this book was created, still feeds the birds daily. Her father, as a young boy, went birding and collected eggs in a way that reflected the norms of another era — carefully blowing out the contents and keeping the delicate shells. Finding nests was considered a treasure, even when they belonged to common species, and that sense of wonder never left him. Leigh grew up on a small lifestyle block in Makarewa, about fifteen minutes north of Invercargill — an old cottage with a large hay barn, orchard, and hen house. As a child, she spent hours inside that hen house, gently catching sparrows that slipped through the mesh, examining them closely, and releasing them again. Her father built her a pigeon coop, and she kept pigeons of her own. Birds were never background noise; they were companions, teachers, and quiet constants. That attentiveness never faded. Leigh notices birds everywhere. She counts them, listens for them, feeds them, and tracks their movements. She can lie on the ground in Central Otago watching birds spiral effortlessly on warm air currents. A family of pūkeko (swamphen) on a roadside verge still makes her smile. Hearing the call of a kārearea (New Zealand falcon), she will search the sky, often without finding him, yet comforted by the knowing that he is near. She feels deeply connected to the maunga (mountains), awa (rivers), and the wider living systems of this land. Birds, for her, are not symbols imposed upon nature — they are participants in relationship, carriers of memory, movement, and meaning. This deck reflects that lifelong intimacy. It is not a taxonomy, nor an attempt to fix meaning. It is a conversation — between land and sky, past and present, ancestral story and lived experience.