Falling, falling, everything is trickling, tumbling, dripping, flowing down like water. Bright, sparkling water, joyful, refreshing water. The subject and its countersubjects all fall together in weaving rivulets and on different time dimensions. The counterpoint is exquisite, both beautiful and vivid: you can clearly embrace three different singing voices simultaneously. The episodes are also flowing down, in canonic sequences, leaping intervals like hunting horns, occasionally bubbling upward in curls and trills. These words are giddy, and silly. The music is not: it is sublime. Bach is pouring his musical grace through your ears, saturating your mind, flowing directly into the river of your heart.