The text reminds me of the cold winter nights I have spent on the roof making fog clouds and staring at the stars, all by myself, as a young child. My nose red with winter chill and my ears and forehead itchy because of the woolen cap I so disliked to wear. 

I envisioned a boy holding his father’s hand, trying to keep up with his fast pace and absorbing as much as he could of that moment.

On the one hand the boy is excited and eager to see an owl and to be a part of the whole process, but on the other hand he is mentally prepared that all their effort might go waste. This makes me think that this boy is very patient and seems contented to be at least a part of this process of owling.

The boy is feeling dazed when he hears the sound of the owl. I think he was not expecting to hear the sound so easily.

I envisioned the giant feathery wings of a big owl above his head and big black shadow lurking above.

I think the author points out the hidden story, i.e. while owling we have to speak less and trust the process more, similarly in life sometimes we have to go with the flow instead of resisting it. Even if we  don't get the expected results the journey itself is very enriching.