Stepping back through the park, layers of big fat snowflakes bullet past me and I feel caught in a storm of explosives as a  cold damp blast drips over me.  The white stuff will not relent it is as though feather pillows are being emptied from the clouds.  This is the closest I get to feeling how randomly the air can fill with missiles.  The snow melts and washes off the clothes but looking back the air is still thick with it.  A layer of debris works its way through the soil.  It happens so suddenly the flurry of snow with no warning.  The crocuses look sturdy, unmoved in their neat beds but through their bright lilac colour they seem deeply unimpressed with the snow.  The weather is in a hurry for Spring is on its way.