There used to be a rounded mountain in the foothills where we lived as kids. Because of the shape of it, it was called “Mary’s Nipple.”
When I went home, the mound was still there, but the big pine tree that had formed the “nipple” had been burned in a fire a year before, so the entire mound was barren. Somehow, without the green, it looked just like a boob.
What a burn.