Calendars for Charity

Clearance Sale!

Dear Friends,

I have a few copies of my 2026 calendars in stock and would love them to find homes.  I produced them to support the National Brain Appeal which is the charity associated with Queen Square London and the London Hospital for Neurology which did its best to help Amanda after her dementia diagnosis (and to support me and my family). 

These full colour A4 calendars were originally priced at £10 each, but since the year has started (though there still are over 11 months left in 2026.....) I am offering them at half price (£5), though I will have to add postage and packing if I need to post them....

The pictures were all taken in Norfolk but cover nature as well as local scenery and buildings.  They will still make nice gifts, but are decorative at the least.  Any contributions to this charity (and also to support the Friends of St Mary's Snettisham) are greatly valued.  Just contact me by email at richardpgibbs@aol.com

With very best wishes,

Richard

And here are a sample of the pictures:

This was the Queen's Station at Wolferton, near Sandringham:

Here is an Avocet, symbolic of the RSPB:

Castle Rising, near King's Lynn:

A Barn Owl early in our graveyard:

Dawn over poppy fields at Courtyard Farm, near Ringstead:

There are only a few copies left, so first come first served!

XXX

Self Portrait

Song on a May Morning

A Time to Dance

I am up early - very early.  I hail May in all its finery, walking an ancient drover's way, heady with the scent of blossom:

The fields are frilled with white:

Mist curls up from a stream behind the dewy flowers:

A Muntjac hesitates ahead of me:

A Hare appears to beckon me on:

In the sky, the swifts are screaming, Here I am! Here I come! Now I'm gone!

While the bold Sedge Warbler rasps his territorial tune, Here I am! Don't come near!

The Meadow Pipit surrounds himself with prickles: 

The Avocet Pas de deux is safe in the water:

And a Short-eared Owl just stares me out:

It is a beautiful time of year, though every season has its thing (Er, shouldn't that be Everything has its season?  Ed.)

No. There is something of beauty in every season, and the blessing we have is that in this neck of the woods, at least, there is variety from month to month, even from day to day.  Here three Prickets (Fallow Deer bucks in their second year) peer at me across the bulb field,

And a Turtle Dove looks down on me from above:

Things that are entirely seasonal.  I just hope that they may come round again.

On my way home, I am struck by the shadow of the church, which reaches out to (but falls short of) the village. 

Only a year ago I would share these walks with Amanda. Now she cannot join me across country on rough paths.  We are limited to the paved ways of the Hunstanton Promenade and such.  To every thing there is a season.....

Song on a May Morning

• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 

Now the bright morning Star, Dayes harbinger,
  Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her
  The Flowry May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow Cowslip, and the pale Primrose.
  Hail bounteous May that dost inspire 
 Mirth and youth, and warm desire,
  Woods and Groves, are of thy dressing,
  Hill and Dale, doth boast thy blessing.
Thus we salute thee with our early Song,
And welcom thee, and wish thee long.  

John Milton


Oh, and here's a Painted Lady (Vanessa to her friends) with barely a fortnight to enjoy this life.....





Blink, and it is all over.......


To every thing there is a season, 
and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die; 
a time to plant, 
and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal; 
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; 
a time to mourn, 
and a time to dance;

(Ecclesiastes)

Spring again.....

Resurrection

The Resurrection (Piero della Francesca) c 1460

I have this fresco on my bedroom wall (there is a copy in the Museo Civico of Sansepolcro, Piero della Francesca's native town).  Every morning I wake to the haunting gaze of the risen Christ, while I still feel as asleep as the four soldiers at his feet (the second from the left being Piero himself).  I am reminded that it is time to make a refreshing pot of tea.....

One reason I so love this painting is that resurrection does not just refer to the man arising from his sarcophagus (though I do feel a bit like that some mornings) - there is the resurrection of the natural world from dormant Winter (on our left) with its bare trees to verdant Spring to our right as life regenerates. Here is Persephone. Here is Osiris. Here is Eostre.....

This Spring, however, is different. The past winter was, for me, the hardest I remember.  Not in terms of the weather, no.  But in terms of loss, of dying.  In December, for the first time in almost forty years, I spent our wedding anniversary alone. Then Christmas, in the company of our two daughters, was again a first without Amanda. New Year; my birthday; Amanda's birthday..... these anniversaries passed in colourless silence. Yes, we visited Amanda in her Care Home. But, no, she could not really participate, or communicate, or recognise.

On top of which, for one reason or another, I didn't feel so good, and the darkness dragged on, well into March, with little sign of hope.

But then the days began to brighten, and, haltingly, there were signs of regeneration. The world seemed to be coming to life again - even if not for everyone. At Easter I took Amanda for a wheel along the prom at Hunstanton, and there were people on the beach!

And across the Marsh there are walkers on the Flood Bank - still attired against the wind, but enjoying the open air, with a blue sky reflected in the ground water.....

In the woods I hear the hopeful chant of the Chiffchaff:

 In the trees I spy a Nuthatch:

And then a busy little Treecreeper:

There was action all around. Birds displaying, and birds hunting, feeding, perhaps providing for the family:

Barn Owl

Marsh Harrier

Buzzard

Red Kite

Mallard

Birds everywhere.  At Titchwell RSPB I saw a distant  Spoonbill:

And Avocets combing the water:

A Redshank in the mud:

And a Meadow Pipit on a post:

And at home, in my garden, the Rosemary is in flower:

And the Cherry trees are blooming:

In this resurrection life is affirming, and the depression of winter begins to lift. My personal grief is nothing compared to others. It is very sad, for me, that I cannot walk across the land with Amanda as we did a year ago, and all the past years that we shared. But she is being looked after, and still has moments of cheer:

Things could be worse, and, I guess, it's best not to think too much about the future. I don't know how many more  Springs there will be - for you, for me, for the planet itself - so we must make the most of what we have today, and be grateful for the wonder that is this resurrection:

The Trees

The trees are coming into leaf 
Like something almost being said; 
The recent buds relax and spread, 
Their greenness is a kind of grief. 

Is it that they are born again 
And we grow old? No, they die too, 
Their yearly trick of looking new 
Is written down in rings of grain. 

Yet still the unresting castles thresh 
In fullgrown thickness every May. 
Last year is dead, they seem to say, 
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.

Philip Larkin