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These mountains were shaped over time—and June 15, 1934, helped protect them. That's when the Great Smoky Mountains National Park was established in Tennessee and North Carolina. Covering over 2,112 square kilometres, the park takes its name from the natural smoky haze drifting over its ridgelines. Part of the Appalachian Mountains, these peaks are over 300 million years old.

Native Americans have hunted in these mountains for around 14,000 years. Archaeologists have found Archaic-period projectile points along animal migration routes, while Woodland-period sites reveal 2,000-year-old ceramics and early farming practices.

Recognised as the Salamander Capital of the World, the park is a biodiversity hotspot, home to around 30 salamander species, black bears, elk, over 200 bird species and thousands of plant varieties. Its forests shift with elevation, supporting a wide range of ecosystems. Kuwohi is the highest point, offering sweeping views. Meanwhile, Cades Cove and Cataloochee Valley contain preserved buildings that reflect life in the region before the park's creation.

At daybreak, the mallard glides over the still water like a brush across a canvas. Its shimmering plumage—emerald-green head in the male, speckled brown coat in the female—catches the first light. It can be seen from the marshes of the Camargue to the urban canals of Amsterdam, a faithful companion of Europe's aquatic landscapes.

An opportunist, it feeds mainly on seeds, aquatic plants and small invertebrates, sometimes dipping its head underwater with a graceful tilt. When spring arrives, the female chooses a discreet shelter, often away from the water, to brood her eggs. The ducklings, clad in golden down, gradually follow their mother, who guides them in a tender procession.

Resilient and adaptable, the mallard reminds us of both the fragility and the richness of our wetlands—those havens where life, even in the heart of the city, still softly murmurs.

On June 14, the stars align—and not just figuratively. They line up on a piece of fabric that has seen battles, protests, and backyard barbecues. Flag Day marks the 1777 decision by the Second Continental Congress to adopt the national flag, but the story goes beyond stitches and stripes.

Enter Wisconsin teacher Bernard J. Cigrand, the 'father of Flag Day,' who began celebrating it with students in 1885. The idea endured, and in 2004 Congress declared his town, Waubeka, the holiday's official birthplace. Design debates still wave on. While Betsy Ross gets the spotlight, many credit Continental Congress delegate Francis Hopkinson with the pattern, which has since evolved into today's 50-star layout.

Six flags even rest on the Moon, left there by Apollo missions. Back on Earth, worn flags are respectfully burned to honor the flag's symbolism and the sacrifices it represents, as guided by the US Flag Code. Red stands for valor, white for purity, blue for vigilance and justice. Today is not a federal holiday, yet it raises the bar—and the banner.

Layered ridges stretch across Badlands National Park in South Dakota. Their bands of pink, grey and gold shift with the light as eroded peaks and valleys come into view. Wind and water continue to shape this terrain, steadily wearing away soft sedimentary rock and exposing millions of years of Earth's history in layers formed by ancient rivers, volcanic ash and periods when shallow seas covered the region.

Beneath this rugged surface lies one of the world's richest fossil beds, preserving the remains of early mammals such as ancient horses and relatives of modern rhinoceroses that once roamed the region. The Badlands are only a window into the past. Today, bison graze the open prairie, bighorn sheep move along steep ridges and prairie dogs gather in active colonies across the grasslands.

Scenic roads and overlooks trace the contours of the land, offering sweeping views. Even now, layers of the past continue to emerge as the landscape slowly transforms.

Anyone who walks through a well-designed garden immediately senses that there is more to it than just beautiful flowers. Garden Day, which is celebrated on the second Sunday in June, draws attention to this quiet art and pays tribute to places where design, care and nature intertwine. The island of Mainau in Lake Constance is a particularly impressive example of this. On the so-called flower island, colours, shapes and scents alternate to the rhythm of the seasons. Spring bloomers transition seamlessly into summer arrangements, with each planting carefully planned and continuously maintained. Paths and beds provide structure and orientation without disturbing or overshaping the lightness of the place.

A highlight is the Italian Flower Water Staircase, where gently flowing water accompanies the steps and harmoniously connects the plants. If you take a closer look, you will discover more than nature here: a finely balanced interplay of planning, craftsmanship and the quiet art of horticulture.

A streak of colour glides past a blur of wildflowers as a European bee-eater cuts through the air. Turquoise, gold and chestnut shimmer across its wings as it hunts in flight, snatching insects mid-air with swift turns. Bees and wasps are among its favoured prey, and the bird often removes the stinger before feeding—a behaviour that reduces the risk of injury.

European bee-eaters breed across southern Europe, the Mediterranean region and parts of western Asia during the warmer months. After the breeding season, most populations migrate south, with many spending the winter in sub-Saharan Africa, while some eastern groups follow routes to northeastern Africa. Pictured here in Sierra de Grazalema Natural Park in southern Spain, a mountainous area known for high rainfall and rich biodiversity, bee-eaters nest in groups, excavating tunnels in sandy banks where they raise their young in colonies. Away from the nest, they often gather briefly on perches before taking flight in coordinated bursts of colour.