Set on the day of the autumn equinox, the poem watches a small patch of woodland water and finds quiet unease in it. A mosquito walks on the surface as if just beginning its life, which feels oddly out of season. A bench at the head of the hollow invites the speaker to sit and think, yet the thought that arrives is only "the not-rightness of it," a vague sense that something is off.
That feeling sharpens in the image of a vernal pool, a spring thing, filling with autumn leaves. The seasons seem mixed up. The poem ends with ecdysis, the shedding of a skin, and with empty husks sinking into mud. Judging by these images, the speaker sees endings and beginnings overlapping in a way that doesn't sit comfortably. The mood is calm, observant, and a little melancholy. Nothing dramatic happens, but the speaker's stillness lets small details carry a feeling of uncertainty and quiet loss.