11 AUGUST 1967, Page 13

Grain to the daily

JOHN HOLLOWAY

A wolf in the field, look! . . . quick, silver as a birch . . . but of course it's a dog and a trick of the morning light.

Yet I commend every trace, trice of emergence of freak and unlooked-for that riddles regularity's doldrum: salute that innermost ring of my friends the mutators. They spread with a word or a gesture their selfness, and grey flashes silver.

Let gravitas-mongers disperse but rarer by far is to find in stubble a harvest again so commend more than those, the one who is grain to the daily: yourself in the Usual.