As he slowly made his way alongside the Danube watching the birds dive into the frigid water for a treat, his thoughts lingered upon the spacious interior of St. Martin’s Cathedral, where they had been married nearly 50 years ago. Time had written many sad lines upon his face although a few glanced heavenward when he smiled. This journey back to Hana’s homeland was long overdue; he could imagine her delighted face when those blue eyes gazed about the capital city, the spring sun kissing her rosy cheeks, her silver tresses dancing on the April wind.
Outside the cathedral a young girl of simple adornment had placed into his gloved hand a few long sticks of fragrant resin folded delicately in thin paper, bound tenderly with a small cotton string. He looked surprised; she only smiled, lowered her eyes and walked away.
Back in the cosy hotel room, he gazed out at the busy fountains, before settling into a supple leather chair. The paper softly crinkled as he removed an incense stick and twirled it thoughtfully below his nose. Holding the flame for long moments beneath the resin, a thin line of smoke began to waft calmly upward, the faint scent of roses soothing his senses. With closed eyes he could see her now as he first did, those many years ago - outdoors by the chapel, tending the garden.