Three short lines, and a whole scene: someone wakes up outdoors, lying in a field with one ear pressed to the ground. We don't learn how they got there, and the poem doesn't explain. It simply drops us into that groggy moment of first awareness.
The title, "Earful," does a lot of the work. It suggests an ear full of something, whether dirt, insects, or sound, and it also hints at being given an earful, as if the ground has been talking. That playful double meaning sits beside a very physical detail: the final word, "itching." Something is crawling or tickling, and the speaker feels it before anything else.
The mood is quiet, strange, and a little comic. There's no panic here, just close attention to the body and the land. The speaker seems half in the human world and half in the earth, listening and being listened to, slightly bothered but also deeply present.