The doors are opened. It is time.
The imaginative, inventive, thinkers, doers pour in. They gravitate to this moment, responding to the call, to the unspoken need, vibrating with anticipation.
Speakers come forward: some home-grown, some growing wherever they want; storytellers, problem solvers; bringers of new heritage, sustainers of change; a voice ringing out on a far flung shore, and one, here, reciprocating.
They begin, echoing all around.
What is this place? What is its purpose?
Unconsciously, a collective breath is drawn.
Words continue, unrelenting. They are meaningful and strong. They bend the city walls and curve them into a new shape.
A sensation begins to rise, is tangible in the bodies of the listeners that shuffle excitedly in their seats, seems to whirl about the room.
Who are we? How shall we live? The answers expand through the air and the status quo creaks and groans under the quickening sense of change.
The breath is exhaled. A sound like the rush of wings.
And the crowd soars, wheeling, swooping amongst the spoken words.
It surges upwards, bright with realised purpose.
Above the rooftops and spires of Chester, a shimmering movement is seen.
Dream. Disrupt. Do good. A growing mass that flows, ever-shifting, like an aerial wave.
Birds in flight. Each is connected now, responding to its fellows, learning, moving as one. Shared identity. Sharing experience. Every wing beat a flutter of unstoppable energy, of fizzing potential.
Spontaneous, subjective. A city with a teeming past, defining its present, its future.
Murmurations. A living thing, pulsating, all together.
words by Matthew Bridson