My trail run this morning began and ended more ceremoniously than normal. I’m not sure why more impressive sights seem so front-loaded occasionally, but sometimes I feel the first few moments of my visits to the local lake could be accompanied by Jurassic Park crescendo music the flights of large eagles and herons being so beautifully orchestrated.

Today, anyway, I was greeted by the delightful sight of an enormous raptor being successfully fended off by a feisty group of much tinier, but coordinated, birds clearly determined to defend their nest homes; and I loved their confidence and initiative.

It’s endearing to see the ways in which all animals express wisdom, both individually and collectively, in the forest. I loved, for example yesterday, observing an adorable toad ensconced rather ingeniously in a perfectly-sized root nook from which he calmly but knowingly observed the immensity of his surroundings, blinking and breathing unfazed as if to say I like this neighborhood, but I recognize what the hawks and snakes are up to, you know. I’ve seen things in my life. But he seemed so isolated.

I’ve loved observing painted turtles, too, with all their beautiful, and more portable, armor up close in recent days, especially as, so often traveling alone, they seem to enjoy the company.

But it was in leaving the trails to today, and noting a spritely but determined-looking red fox met by a chorus of squirrel distress calls, that the relevance to the theme of my blog set in. Not one of these impressively loud lookouts, of course, needed to vocalize for his or her own sake, although all were clearly invested in the well-being of the larger group, which was dispersed enough to forage while remaining tightly-knit enough to hear. So many distress calls, today, seem to be muffled, rather than amplified, by the very community members responsible for relaying important messages, and I feel it important to ask why. Are people not as wise as squirrels?

I’m not sure about the composition of your online media diet, but, lately, I’ve personally been enjoying content produced by ecology-focused outlets like the Cornell Lab of Ornithology. As much as I love and am usually inspired by such oufits’ content, sometimes I feel just as heartbroken as galvanized when considering the sights and sounds of endangered species calling out for a fellow member of animal-kind who should be easier to reach.

Outspoken but shadow-banned advocates for changes to the ways in which our largely corporate media-dominated communications infrastructure operates sometimes feel like close analogues and, with the fall of traditional journalism, it can feel like there is no one to sound the alarm. (Why can’t someone like RFK, Jr. compete on a national debate stage, for example?) On the other hand, I find it difficult to believe the strategy that seems to have triumphed for so long, and that involves little else but domination via conglomeration and cooptation, will continue to be able to prevail forever.

For so long, I’ve questioned the wisdom of such renegades’ decisions to appear on what has traditionally been considered enemy partisan media outlets clearly not interested in supporting them, really, but investing in the spoiler potential they are supposed to represent. But, increasingly, and even though I realize it is important not to put too much stock in any one person, I suppose I can see (even though I disagree with) their logic in speaking into such microphones, even when extended by accident.

In any case, I believe the answer lay in working together and supporting one another whenever possible while remembering that, regardless of appearances, media corporations are different from the fox: They hunt in packs.