White Fireworks

So there I was, standing on the 12th floor of the HSBC building in downtown Rochester, waiting to see an accountant to set up the books for Jairus House. It was one of those elegant office suites that bristled with business and dripped with money. The decor included showcases for antique pottery complete with backlighting, rich cherry woodwork walls, thick oriental carpeting of the wall to wall variety, appropriate journals on the table, half hidden by the day's Wall Street Journal hot off the press.

The receptionist spoke in quiet dulcet tones as she responded to incoming calls and pages from the cubicled room beyond the massive one-knob-in-the-middle doors. My coat was taken and cared for, I was offered coffee or tea or bottled water and polite conversation while I waited. At one point, the receptionist became enmeshed in a confusion about a set of corporate tax forms having been delivered to the wrong person, and I took the opportunity to stand and gaze out the floor to ceiling windows.

I realized this was the building that displayed a building-sized lighted Christmas tree at evening by coloring various windows in the shape of a tree, an interesting puzzle in logistics. This office suite had red lights along each pane. Then I lifted my eyes from the interior to the view - WOW! You could see clear to the river past the new bridge beyond the expressway.

I could see almost the entire city up close and personal. It was impressive from this vantage point. People and cars below were miniatures in constant motion. Taxis, buses, trucks, vans - all in a hurry to get someplace. Instead of seeing the skyline I am used to - mostly the tallest buildings, I saw blocks of buildings all different heights and textures, different landscaping, some dirty and run down, others in good shape, a few new. You could look into the windows of the nearby businesses and see shadows of people wandering about from window to window. It was definitely a city at work.

The receptionist finished untangling the problem, and I turned to her and remarked about the fabulous view. Her head came up in surprise, and she said, "Oh, yes. I guess it is. I forget its there." Then she went back to her gentle and constant patter of chatter. I glanced back at the window. Suddenly, white sparks shot up from just beyond the little park area. What was that? Fireworks? Its the wrong season of the year for fireworks. And they are all white and spiraling straight up. Not fireworks. Birds! Seagulls to be more exact. Twenty-odd white seagulls, startled from their morning forage of garbage, all fluttering skyward from the same location, just like a spray of fireworks.

I watched them ascend higher and higher together in a mighty surge, then peel away from each other like Blue Angels in an air show. It was spectacular. The receptionist missed the whole thing. She was oblivious. I felt sorry for her. I guess in order to concentrate on her job, she had to focus on the backlit gray courtesy panel that lined her desk area. Too bad. To face a window on the world and not see anything. To have white fireworks going off right in front of you, and see only your desk.