The air runs thin
Cold with a foreboding chill

The first glinting dots
descend in a chaotic
scuffle
of inaudible proportions

A window reveals
A silent battle
Of frosted orbs skirmishing
Chaotically above the ground
Each sparring for a patch of earth.

The onslaught
Continues

Banking left
And right
In endless spirals
They speed about
In an incoherent swarm
Of lifeless vitality.

One seeks out another
In a frenzy of mutual
Destruction
Dropping dead
From the heavens

The air becomes thick-
Clouded with graupel flak
And the dust of
The fallen.

Numbers mounting
The orbs continue to cascade
With the silent grace of defeat
Resting quietly
Until they are buried
In the bodies of their brethren.

The silent snow falls

A crisp morning anew
And the battle is forgotten
By all
But the silent snow drifting in the wind,
Carrying the muted 
Memory
Of days past

Until they too
Reach the earth
To join their fallen comrades