This isn't so unusual. Already this winter I've trudged through thin flakes, swirling flakes, fat wet blobs of stuck-together flakes that stick again, flakes so light you can barely tell if they're going up or down, dull flakes, mysterious flakes that appear overnight where there definitely weren't any flakes the night before, flakes that melt as you watch them, unable to stand up to the light of day, flakes that come, flakes that go. All sorts of flakes really.
What strikes me as odd about this snow is how you couldn't tell when it started that this wasn't just any flakes, more flakes, but a dull white unapologetic, unremitting, end-of-the-world sort of a snow. The snow is gentle – soft little flakes descending, and descending – falling in soft swirls. And it isn't so much that they've covered everything, and covered it again, covering themselves as fast as they can. It's that the whole world is disappearing into it. The snow isn't rising, the world appears to be sinking. Falling away, swallowed up under a cold new white horizon.