Deborah Lawrenson

A lopsided stone arch at the end of the main house, which would once have let carts into the courtyard…                                    ...

Saturday is market day in Apt. It’s hot and the streets are thronged. The locals keep to the southern end of town where the fruit and veget...

This is the life…a very comfortable seat in the shade of the fig tree in the courtyard, a pile of lovely books, some wild plums from the hi...

Found ten minutes ago by daughter on the wall outside bedroom door. Not the sharpest of photos - there were what might be diplomatically t...

Fat scorpions lurked malevolently as I began to clear the stew of wind-blown twigs and sodden tangles of ivy, rotted petals and grit.     ...

One afternoon, idly looking down over the lower terraces at the stone walls, my eyes fastened on a wooden beam in the wall attached to the ...

The summer I was fifteen I went up towards the mountains for the lavender harvest. It was Marthe’s idea, she who persuaded our parents to l...