A Living Planet
Press begin, and walk through the forest, the ocean, the ice, and the meadow — through what still thrives, and what a future worth protecting could look like.
Press begin, and walk through the forest, the ocean, the ice, and the meadow — through what still thrives, and what a future worth protecting could look like.
A single mature tree can draw down roughly 20 kilograms of carbon dioxide a year, and beneath the soil, fungal threads called mycorrhizae link whole forests into one shared, breathing network.
The old oak had stood for two hundred years. What no one could see was that it had never really stood alone — its roots traded sugar for water with a thousand strangers, all season, in the dark.
Marine plants and plankton generate more than half of the oxygen we breathe, and the ocean has absorbed a large share of the extra heat and carbon dioxide humans have added to the atmosphere.
Every year, the humpback returns to the same cold water, having crossed an ocean by memory alone — following a route she was never taught, only born knowing.
Glaciers and polar ice sheets hold most of the world's fresh water, and their retreat is already reshaping coastlines, sea levels, and the water supply of mountain communities downstream.
Ice this old remembers the air from before people. Trapped in every bubble is a small, exact record of a sky none of us ever saw — and it is disappearing, one summer at a time.
Bees, butterflies, and other pollinators are responsible for close to a third of the food crops we eat, quietly moving pollen between flowers that would otherwise never meet.
The bee doesn't know she's essential. She only knows the next flower, and the one after that — and somehow, that's enough to feed a field.
Every part of this journey — the forest, the ocean, the ice, the meadow — is still here, and still worth protecting. What we build next decides how much of it stays.
Every hike has stops worth pausing at. Tap one to see what's at stake for it — and what's still possible.
Longer droughts and heat stress leave forests more open to pests, disease, and bigger, faster-moving wildfires. Some forests could shift from storing carbon to releasing it.
Protecting old growth and restoring degraded land keeps forests doing what they've always done — quietly locking carbon away for centuries.