Echoes of a Lost Freedom II: Flaco and the Lonely Sky

The story of the owl who defied his fate in New York

Today, I want to continue my Echoes of Freedom series, which I first began with Ukraine. Now, I turn to Flaco, one of the most famous owls in New York. His story is not just about an animal that escaped from its cage, but about a fight for freedom in a city that, while full of opportunities, can also feel like a giant concrete trap.

Flaco was not just any owl. He had spent almost his entire life in captivity at the Central Park Zoo, never knowing a reality beyond the bars that defined his horizon. But one day, someone cut open the mesh of his enclosure, and his story changed forever.

The Escape and the Struggle for Survival

On the night of his escape in February 2023, Flaco took off without looking back. For him, freedom was not a choice—it was instinct, it was survival. But there was a clear problem: Flaco had spent his whole life in captivity. He had never hunted for himself, never had to face the harsh New York winter without the security of his enclosure. Experts said he wouldn’t make it, that his fate was already sealed.

But Flaco proved them wrong. Against all odds, he learned to hunt. He adapted. He found his place in the heart of the city, among the trees of Central Park, under the watchful eyes of those who, like me, went out searching for him every day, worried about his well-being.

The Owl That Made Us See New York Differently

He became a symbol, a comforting presence in a world that sometimes feels too fast, too hostile. In a city where the sense of community often dissolves into routine, Flaco made us stop. He made us look up. He made us wonder where he was, what he was doing that night, whether he would find food or if the cold would be too much for him.

Every day, I wondered where he was. I worried that he wouldn’t survive, that his flight was a desperate attempt to escape one cage only to find himself trapped in another—larger and crueler. New York is not a forest; it’s a jungle of skyscrapers, traffic, and neon lights. And Flaco, a Eurasian eagle-owl, was completely alone.

Maybe that’s why, in his last months, his nighttime calls grew more insistent, a desperate cry for a mate who would never come. His hoots echoed through the park, lost in the noise of a city that never sleeps. For many of us, that sound became a kind of anthem, a melancholic melody that spoke of loneliness, resilience, and, above all, hope.

Flaco and My Own Search for Freedom

There were days when I didn’t want to go to work. My job had become a place where I suffered, where no one understood me, where I sent distress signals and no one cared. Mental health in a place like New York is fragile. It wears you down, not just with its relentless pace but also with the voices—both external and internal—that tell you you're not good enough, you're not a real videographer, you're just pretending. In the midst of shifting work schedules and constant frustration, any free moment I had, I used to look for Flaco, to watch him. I liked to imagine those mornings when the sun hit him directly as he slept on some high branch in the park. When the sound of my camera’s shutter woke him up, maybe he’d open one eye and look at me with indifference, wondering, "Is this human following me again?"

Flaco, without knowing it, gave me a reason to go outside, to walk, to search for him among the trees of Central Park on days when nothing else made sense. I held onto his story, as many did, because, in a way, we have all been Flaco at some point in our lives.

A Year in Freedom

Against all odds, Flaco survived in "freedom" for a year. A freedom in quotation marks because, even though he had no bars around him, his world was still limited. New York is not a natural habitat for a Eurasian eagle-owl, but he made it his home. He found his place in the park's Ramble, his small refuge in a harsh and cold winter.

His story ended tragically. One day, he stopped appearing. He was found lifeless near a building, after a fatal collision with a window. It was the ending many feared, but that didn’t take away from the meaning of his journey.

Flaco was more than just an owl. He was a reminder that freedom, no matter how brief, is worth it. That sometimes, it’s better to fly—no matter the uncertainty—than to stay in a cage, safe but lifeless.

Flaco is New York. A New York that can be cruel but, at its best, also makes space for stories like his.

Full story here https://alfonsolozano.substack.com/p/echoes-of-a-lost-freedom-ii-flaco