250 Words on Florissant

The walking was tranquil. I immediately noticed the spacious air around me. The observation deck was filled with sky, a sky that is usually filled with mountains, trees, or buildings, but not here. The vastness of space was solidified by the people that sat in front of me. As they relaxed, looking around at the fossilized redwoods, I could only see how they were dwarfed by the gradient of blue that slowly shifted from light to dark.  The clouds loomed over them like silent gods keeping an eye on the world below. Hard as it was to continue on, I soon found myself within a cocoon of trees. Inside of the enclosed paradise, I became drawn to the bundles of wood meant for capturing fire if one were to ever appear. The structures were spaced all around the perimeter, like small huts for a race of tiny people. My friend and I laughed when thinking about the small creatures that would live in such a place, even referring to them as “mindians” (mini indians). The enclosed nook with trees that towered over me was made lighthearted by our laughter, and in that moment, my connection to the space was made stronger. Moving forward, I saw a community of park benches that were sparsely covered by only one low hanging branch. These benches quickly became reminiscent of camping trips with family. I was reminded of my father’s pictures from camping when he was young, and I felt a sense of kinship when I sat upon them. Looking at the collection of spaces around me, Florissant became a compilation of open and closed, comfort and wonder, beauty and laughter.