I lived in the countryside outside of Madison, Wisconsin, in the late 90s. At the time, my then-wife and I went to the Unitarian Society in Madison on Sundays. (This is the Unitarian building designed by Frank Loyd-Wright.)
One winter Sunday, the minister talked about Grey Owl, the British man taking on a Native American persona in Canada and giving talks and writing as if he was a born Native American. (If I remember correctly, the talk was about how he was authentic in feeling and living like a Native American although others saw him as a fraud when his English background was publicly revealed.)
The talk impacted me deeply since I have always had a deep admiration for and resonance with the Native American cultures. On the way home, driving along a silent winter road in Mount Horeb, we saw a large Snowy Owl sitting on a branch over the road. It seemed like a scene in a movie with the beautiful freshly snow-covered winter landscape and the owl sitting right over the road in front of us. We stopped the car and watched the owl for a while in awe. The owl then silently and majestically dropped off the branch and glided along the road and out of sight.
It was a powerful synchronicity and the talk and Snowy Owl experience made a deep impression on me. It started a phase in my life where I delved more deeply into Native American literature and the Native American world. (I had always been drawn to it, since early childhood, but this gave me an opportunity to go a bit more deeply into it.) I watched the movie about Grey Owl. I read his books. I read any other books I could find written by Native Americans. I read Native American stories and mythology. I took part in sweat lodges led by a Sioux holy man. And it generally deepened my earth-centered spirituality and appreciation for the Native American cultures.