Morning blackbird on the lawn   The raised square of lawn edged with stone makes a flat stage. The radio releases Eine kleine Nachtmusik and a blackbird appears.   You’d swear he knows stage directions. Stage right then three bold hops, a glide, a pause timed as ballet music is   always surprising you with its pauses, its way of not quite following the beat (the blackbird exists and runs behind the curtain)   then boldly reappears, up stage centre listening for a worm underneath the music the worm of sorrow and weeping, someone said,   that the discerning…