1) Clustered chunks of snowflakes fall steadily like powdered sugar, which gravity seems to pull more slowly than salt. They are in no particular hurry, but they know where they are going and how to get there.
2) Smaller more compact pellets of snow plummet like dry white raindrops. To squirrels, these must be like hailstones. (These do not fall as spaced out as the clustered chunks do. But I think the same quantity of snow falls per sq. inch per hour for both types).
3) Clumsy wondering flurries seem to have no idea where the ground is and don't seem to care much about getting there. They drift leftward and rightward and collide often. Some even appear to drive upward on occasion.
The third is the kind of snow I watched from the espresso shop in historic downtown Dover today. That is where I wrote these definitions.
Afterward, I took my little espresso to an old multi-room resale bookstore. Do you know what a bookstore that is too small for its inventory looks like? Well, The books are compressed tightly and their weight causes the cheap shelves to bow in the middle. Rows of books even line the bases of the shelves, narrowing the isles. In some places, books are even crammed sideways ontop of stout codexes. Some books have seen many a shop and some have long stared at the walls of a cardboard box while others are hot off the press. The diversity in age reminds me of a small-town church. The place was quite comfy. Too bad there was no room for a chair.