June day in Colyton

For Jan Dean

On this duck-egg blue morning
even seagulls keep their voices down.
The whirr of pigeons’ wings ruffles the air.

We stroll sloping streets, gazing
as summer flowers punch colour on walls
white as china or oatmeal antique linen.

Butterflies flicker, making no sound
As they tip wings from bloom to bloom.
No need for conversation between us,

we match step for step, dreamily.
Each house has its own story to tell,
each door keeps its own secrets.