The speaker has come back to a familiar place, and the title, "Prodigal," suggests a return after a long absence. The first thing they notice is small and physical: mud on their boots. From there the poem makes a quiet leap, turning the old roads into the lines, or furrows, on the speaker's palms. Land and body blur together, and both carry the marks of time. The hands grow "thinner" with each passing day, which hints at aging and loss.
The mood is wistful but not despairing. Lines like "we dare their destiny" suggest some courage in facing the years as they fly past. By the end, the speaker walks among bare winter trees, and their footsteps seem to rise into the sky. Birds slip "through my fingers," which could mean things escaping, but it also feels like a release. The poem seems to move from holding on to letting go, and finding a gentle peace in that.