From San Diego to Naples: The Owl’s Blessing 🌙

From San Diego to Naples: The Owl’s Blessing 🌙

One night, under a glowing full moon, I heard an owl sing in my yard — for the very first time.
It was 1:40 AM on October 7th, the night after my mother’s birthday. I was lying down peacefully, listening to old Nintendo songs that made my heart feel warm and nostalgic: Donkey Kong Country 1, 2, and 3… Breath of the Wild… even F-Zero from the SNES days.

That’s when I heard it.
A gentle rhythm through the night air:
hoo… hoo-hoo… hoo-hoo…

I paused the music and pulled off my headphones, heart still.
Again, the owl sang — soft, slow, and distant. I opened the blinds and looked into the glowing sky. Clouds parted gently, and the full moon lit up the world like a lantern. Crickets and cicadas played their usual background chorus, but this time, something was different. Something magical.

It was the first owl I’ve ever heard in Naples. But not the first I’ve ever heard in my life.

The first time I heard an owl was in San Diego, a few years ago.
It was late at night, and I had just visited the hospital with my mom and brother. My father had suffered a heart attack and stroke, his fourth surgery. I was scared. Broken. We stepped out of the hospital in the dark, and suddenly we heard it:
The same hooo. Loud and clear.

And there, perched at the very top of the hospital building… was the owl.
A guardian in feathers.

In our Mexican culture, owls can be feared — some say they mean death is near. I was afraid. But I later learned they can also symbolize protection during illness, a messenger of wisdom and spiritual care. I chose to believe that version. And my father recovered.
By God’s grace, he is here with us now, alive and smiling in our new home in Texas.

So last night… when I heard the owl again, it didn’t feel like a warning.
It felt like a sign of peace. A full-circle moment.
The first time I heard the owl was in sorrow.
This time, it was in bliss — with my family safe, my mother just celebrated, and the sky softly aglow above our quiet home.

Each call sounded soft and kind, like the night itself was breathing. For the first time since moving here, I felt the land speak back.

They say when an owl greets you on a quiet evening, it isn’t by accident. It’s a sign of peace, wisdom, protection, transition, and connection— five gifts wrapped in feathers. Maybe that’s why there were five hoos.

I imagined the owl perched high in the oak, watching with bright golden eyes, guarding this little patch of moonlight I now call home. And in that moment, I felt something settle inside me—like the world whispered, “You belong here, Tiny.”

🦉💫

Two owls. Two chapters.

One story of healing.