The speaker goes for a solitary walk at midday, paying close attention to the ground underfoot. From there the poem drifts in odd, dreamlike jumps. The ground becomes "a future of mine" that the speaker would gladly trade away, and the talk turns to building: lifting a roof higher to widen "our first moor." The word "our" suggests a shared dwelling, and the title hints at a very old, early way of living, though the poem never spells that out.
What stands out is the strange last line, "the home I ate." Land, shelter and food seem to merge, as if the speaker takes in the landscape the way a person eats a meal. The mood is quiet, calm and a little puzzling. The speaker sounds content ("I had a fine walk"), but the logic is slippery, so the poem feels less like a story and more like a mood of belonging to the earth.