Vania Stefanova,
BG
Moirae
She is old as a
turtle—she is dry as a spider—her shadow is long.
A woman with spindle and distaff just sitting on the bench
in the riparian cottage, her back to the sunset. She, as
though spinning the thread of life, determines its length
and cuts it. Froth as a fine yarn is swaying away with the
dark breeze…
I can't see
the path—
in the dusk
buzzing of a spindle
