All of the planes were grounded because of the snow storms, and the airport turned into a sort of middle class refugee camp. It wasn't terrible, people were being given roll mats to sleep on and sandwiches which are apparently the two main staples of life.
There was entertainment too, it was interactive theatre. One proud wizened woman tried to get in an argument with airport staff. I sent myself to sleep that night replaying in my mind the subtle change in her facial expression when she realised he was a cleaner. But she knew she had to keep up the drama - women like that can feel it when they have an audience, it's a sixth sense or extended range of smell or something. So she gave her best performance, the finest improvised soliloquy I had seen since school. Many people slept well that night, wrapped up in a warm sense of smugness.

My dreams were of planes.

The airline had decided at the last minute to reschedule the flights and there was a stampede to the departure gate. Everyone moved at once, instinctively like a flock of starlings. The two planes took off without us though. Everybody wanted to know what was going on but nobody was able to talk, it all just came out as abstract sounds and colours. So instead we watched the Boeings as they danced in the air, through the soft falling snowflakes. It was painted like the animation The Snowman. It became obvious after a little while that the planes were courting, and would soon try to mate. At some point the dream had switched from being aircraft to myself and my girlfriend in bed at home, and I was ecstatic. But when I tried to tell her how happy I was to see her, I couldn't talk. It all just came out as abstract sounds and colours. So we had to stop having sex and just sat in silence, watching the planes through the snow through the window. As they flew they started rattling, and pieces fell away into the sea. It was so sad to see them break apart like that, but as each part was embraced by the tropical waters I felt deep calm and joy.