owl dreaming

Recently, in the haze of sinusitis and grief, I had two dreams about owls.

In the first I was in my childhood kitchen, from which one could see a lot of big trees, with some very cool people - I don't know who they were, but they were intimidatingly cool.
I could hear an owl, that distinctive two tone intonation, and kept trying to find it in the trees.
'Look, there's an owl.' I'd say.
'Nope,' one of the cool people would say laconically, 'that's an ibis.'
'No, there - look, an owl!'
'Nope, that's a hadeda.'
I'd hear it again.
'Look there, carefully, there's an owl!'
'Nope, that's a bunch of pigeons.'

I woke from the dream feeling irritable and embarrassed, feeling distinctly not cool. And then I realised I could hear an owl, loudly.
An owl must have been on our roof, just above our open bedroom window.
It called over and over again, that beautiful melodic sound which is not very 'wooo whooo' but so indescribable with our available bunch of phonetics that I can understand why we call it that.
I listened to it until I fell asleep again.

Surprise surprise my next dream was about owls too. But this time I could see them. I was in a field, at night, with trees dotted around, and just full of owls.
Owls were swooping between trees, dozing on branches, looking at me with yellow eyes. Curved beaks, variegated feathers, talons, fluffy down and severe 'ears'. Owls eviscerated mice, swooped and caught small bunnies carrying them up into the darkness and certain death.
Owls owls everywhere and always the distinctive call in the darkness.

I woke from this dream feeling peaceful and happy.
It was light outside and the owl on our roof had gone to bed.

I have no idea what any of this means, but I love that intersection between awake and asleep, and I love hearing an owl in the night - it always feels like a gift.