The Snowy Mound CHRIS MAULDIN
A toothsome breeze of shepherd’s pie is lifted from a table near and, right beside, a sweaty pint of amber sits waiting to be downed. A dog inside, a scruffy rug, lies before the hearth, and patrons in high spirits scarcely notice the falling flame. The publican tends the fireplace, kindling the logs inside, and high above the snowy mound– a wafting smoke.