Having lit a stick of Indian incense, I looked at the bronze head next to the bowl made for the purpose. It was made when I was five and a half (“Vladeta Petrić – Šepo,” October 11, 2012). A year or at most two later I became acquainted with incense, which my uncle brought from India (“Sandalwood,” February 11, 2000). I was enchanted by it from the very beginning. And the habit has stayed with me ever since. Some sixty years now, I have never been without incense for more than a week or two. Which is why my bronze head and the bowl for burning incense are on the same low table close to the fireplace in my livingroom, I realized at last. They go together, for they are roughly of the same age. The only mystery of this connection is that it has taken me so long to discover it. And put it into words.