Melting snow dripping from the eaves and roofs of buildings: plikety-plikety-plikety-plikety. Or sometimes slower: plik. plik. plik. plik.
Brushing snow off car windows: schawuff! schawuff!
Walking over unmelted salt cystals: schkit, schkit, schkit, schkit.
A car moving over cobblestones that have gathered tiny pools of melt: Shakoosh! Shakoosh!
And the water thrown off my Route I-95, far overhead as I cross the plaza in front of Main Street Station, after it has gained the momentum of its long journey and lands on my head: plop. Yeah, that's right. Plop.