"When you hear the voice pause, you pause." Clearly the sky is overcast and the lamppost is doing its best to hold it up; the weight of heaven is much too much for us. "Listen again....
This pause is much longer and more necessary than the first." A foot hangs from the clouds, her foot, recently risen there; with it she is gone to do other work, not the work we see, but the work we hear.
Being one less we move on. We could wait to see what will arrive next, but when it arrives it may not arrive here, because she is gone, even the foot has withdrawn.
But don't believe that nothing's left; the lamppost is there and the sky; and, especially if we don't fill it there is the silence.
We have no way of measuring that, so our job is to listen, clearly listen. "The mountain will say it to you through the mist:
