The speaker admits to being of two minds: what he believes in his poems differs from what he believes in his prose. He compares this to a window that shows different yards depending on the hour, or a road that sometimes goes to town and sometimes into the woods. Then the poem becomes a walk. It is morning, the rain is glittering on bare twigs, and a grouse thumps in the dark like a war drum. The speaker, oddly, laces his boot with a long white hair, so the loose tongue won't "give him away." He sees himself as a scout, watching for an army of distractions.
The mood is alert and a little playful, even secretive. Morning feels vivid and full of belief. By the flat afternoon, things lose their shine and drift into "anywhere-but-here." The poem suggests that certainty depends on attention, and attention fades with the light.