In just four short lines, this poem describes a journey that turns out to be a homecoming. The speaker sets out in the morning, but the trip has no words, which is a quiet way of saying that the writing happens before, or beneath, language. Then comes the surprise: the destination is a half acre of land where the speaker "always" has been. The journey doesn't take them anywhere new. It brings them back to a place they never really left.
The title, "Writing process," suggests we can read this as a picture of how writing begins. Rather than hunting for something far away, the speaker goes inward, or into a small, familiar patch of ground. The feeling is calm and settled, with a hint of wonder at how modest the destination is. The mood is hushed and unhurried, like an early walk before anyone else is awake, and it leaves you with the sense that the place you need may be the one you're already standing in.