creamsicle missile
I dreamed I was flying through space inside a guided missile (not like that’s a phallic symbol or anything). My point-of-view was from the nose cone of the missile as it flew down through the Earth's atmosphere, down to Montreal, and roared straight down Murray Street.
The streets and the sidewalks, the cars, every surface was covered with snow. But instead of being normal snow it was topped off with a thick orange crust, like a creamsicle. Everything, everywhere was orange.
A bunch of ripples in the surface had risen up into shapes resembling evil orange snowmen. These creatures were tall, vaguely anthropomorphic shapes that maintained a seamless connection to the ground.
A bunch of these creamsicle soldiers were standing in a parking lot as if they were guarding a warehouse. The missile flew straight up to the biggest one of the group and rammed right into it.
A hatch in the missile popped open and I climbed out.
I walked around in the parking lot for a while. My heavy boots left footprints in the creamsicle surface.