I did television for a very long time, but if you're on television, words don't count. What the eye sees beats the words. If you switch sides, from radio to television, you learn that the wordiness that you learn on the radio is useless or not nearly as powerful, and you have to learn to trust that the eye will just beat the ear.
The universe doesn't tell what it's hiding, though it's hiding a lot. All those planets, stars, moons and great clouds of dust we can see are a small percentage of what's actually there. Most of the universe is made of 'dark' matter that neither emits nor absorbs light. So most of what's going on in the universe looks like, well... nothing.
What happens if you are the last (the very, very last) of your species, and you die - and humans notice? We live, increasingly, at a time when extinctions are recorded, remembered, and the last animal (or plant) in its line, by virtue of its being last, becomes a kind of celebrity. Its finality becomes a thing to honor.