Having been up for most of the Spring, it provided a beautiful blanket of delicate white flowers, since the first bulbs were waking up, and the snow was still melting.

This year, particularly after this long and hard winter, I appreciated the Daisy’s presence even more, as the trees were barely catching up with their start of the year.

Linked to the Spring Equinox, daisies signal that brighter days are coming. An old proverb says that ‘it is not spring until you can plant your foot upon twelve daisies’, though different regions have a lower threshold of nine. Whilst it’s a simple and common flower, it’s forever present in poetry, art, literature, folklore and history.1

Standing as proof for its appreciation, its Latin name, ‘Bellis Perennis’, could be translated to forever beauty, as ‘Bellis’ stands for beauty, and ‘Perennis’ translates to living forever. Deservingly so.

In English, the name ‘daisy’ is believed to come from ‘day’s eye’, or the ‘eye of the day’, since the flowers open according to daylight. They stay closed during the night, and when first ray of sunshine touches them, they open to fully embrace the new day.

Throughout history, the daisy played many roles, including a medicinal plant. John Gerard, author of one of the first English herbals, wrote, “The leaves stamped take away bruises and swellings… whereupon it was called in old time Bruisewort. The juice of leaves and rootes snift up into the nostrils purgeth the head mightilie, and helpeth the Megrim.”

Even today, in some parts of the British countryside, it’s referred to as ‘the gardener’s friend’, as farmers are rubbing it on their lower back to soothe their pain.

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Although I was aware of some of the folklore surrounding the daisy, I was pleased to discover much more meanings behind this beloved wildflower that seems to have been woven into folklore forever.

In Norse mythology, daisies are sacred to Freya, the goddess of love, beauty, and fertility. Because of this association, daisies became a traditional gift for new mothers, representing birth, new beginnings, and maternal love. Their connection to Freya also made them a symbol of romantic devotion and loyalty.

The Daisy is also a warrior’s plant, despite its size. It was given to soldiers as a good luck charm, for the protection of Freya in her fighting form. Its protection extends especially to warriors who are women, as these come under Freya’s dominion rather than Odin’s.2

In Roman times, it was primarily known as the symbol of childhood innocence. This charming wildflower is said to originate from a Dryad, who presided over woodlands, meadows, and pastures. It is said that daisies are linked to the story of Bellis, a graceful nymph who captured the attention of Vertumnus, the god of orchards and seasons. As she danced in the fields, Vertumnus became enamoured with her, but she did not return his affections. To escape his pursuit, she pleaded with the gods, who transformed her into a daisy.3

Described by William Wordsworth as ‘bright flowers whose home is everywhere’, the daisies are an important early source of nectar, as they keep flowering from early spring and well into its end, and they’re being witness to the dawn chorus every day.

Their connection with humanity grows deeper still. For centuries, children have been using them to make daisy chains, that would protect them from being abducted by fairies. Another popular game that the daisy has been used for is the ‘loves me, loves me not’ - where you’d pluck the petals one by one.

For the parks that choose to honour it, it provides a beautiful, low maintenance splash of colour in the vast green, and a great way to help wildlife.4

Whether seen as the modest bloom of a transformed nymph, a symbol of a mother’s love, or a whisper of the fairy world, daisies have enchanted our hearts for centuries. They remind us of purity, endurance, and the gentle magic found in nature.

I believe it is such a special little flower, and judging by its many different names, humanity adorned it for millennia.

Do you have a favourite legend about daisies? I’d love to hear from you.

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Take a stroll through the city. Where do you feel better?

I, for one, feel an absolute joy whenever I see fences or houses covered in climbers. Hidden behind trees. When I see nature taking over man made structures. When I see a symbiotic relationship between our space and the natural world.

Because it’s not one or the other. In our cities, it should be both. Intertwined.

And I’m certain this is what most of us feel.

Making our cities wilder does not only mean inviting nature in for her sake only - but for ours, too. And the easiest and closest space that we can use for this purpose is exactly our doorstep.

I have spent a few weeks in The Netherlands, and even though the country has only a few truly wild places left, the cities are making space for her at every step. On facades. Between buildings. On the corner of streets. On bicycle parking covers. On public transport stations.

Walking on a street like this makes me feel safe. Hugged. It’s incredible how much positive mental impact it can have.

And creating something like this isn’t only the decision of the government or local municipality, nor is everything maintained by them. The people who want to use the potential space in front of their building for plants can do so by removing tiles and putting down climbers, flowers, shrubs or trees. And the municipality not only enables it, but it also supports it. And the results speak for themselves.

As an example of gardening for the benefit of everyone, has kindly shared some photos from Haarlem, The Netherlands:

It’s what I’d call a blueprint for community stewardship. Taking matters into our own hands.

If you think about, it’s akin to gardening. But not for yourself only, but for the benefit of others, too. Including nature.

The same way rainforests are a thriving ecosystem, so can our own cities be. Imagine the corridors we’d build for wildlife if more of us would be doing this.

And whilst parks can be amazing, we are unfortunately running out of space. And we still need to expand our cities, as population grows and the housing crisis is an ever present issue.

There are so many places where people have no access to nature. Think tanks such as Create Streets or the Lab of Thought are great at researching these topics, making it easier for people to take action. A request for your municipality will weigh more when backed by science.

The benefits for this are enormous, even if we were to think only of ourselves. Better mental health. Better air quality. Reduced temperatures during the summer, and therefore lower electricity bills. Less noise.

It’s not high tech solutions that will make cities more liveable. Nor better for biodiversity. But simple, community driven actions.

The growing interest for countryside living and for hiking during the weekend proves that we are longing for this connection. But both options are difficult and expensive.

The great outdoors is not some place to escape to, but a place to live within.

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References:

1. Analysis finds urban areas in England where no one lives within 15-minute walk of nature

2. Give britons the right to plant

3. Nature in Amsterdam

4. Kowarik, I., Fischer, L.K., Haase, D. et al. Promoting urban biodiversity for the benefit of people and nature. Nat. Rev. Biodivers. 1, 214–232 (2025)

5. Remove your tiles

Yet, since yesterday, a pristine white blanket has covered the world, as if nature itself needed a reminder of how winter should trully be. The first proper snow in years began as a delicate whisper, but quickly transformed into a beautiful, relentless storm.

Each flake, caught in the wind, is swirling and twirling, filling every nook and cranny with its embrace. Part of the lake lies frozen, and the ducks, once lively and vibrant, now float aimlessly, muffled by the cold.

The storm has paused time, transforming the familiar into a canvas of white uniformity. The world outside my window is now a monochrome masterpiece, where every contour is softened, and every sound is muted, as if the earth itself is holding its breath.

Yet, defiantly clinging to their branches, the red berries stand proud against the snow’s embrace, offering shelter and food to the birds that still dare to roam. They are a testament to resilience, a reminder that life finds a way, even in the coldest of seasons.

As I wander through this landscape, I am struck by a profound sense of loss.

The climate crisis has rendered such winters increasingly rare, and with each flake that falls, I feel the weight of what we stand to lose. As the storm rages on, I embrace this moment as a reminder to cherish the beauty around us, before it slips away beneath the weight of change.

Until next time,

Leonard

It wasn’t the kind of day that I’d go for a ride - but I wanted to explore it.

As I was coming back, wet and muddy, just as I passed the edge of a forest, something pulled at me. An eerie feeling. A muted, foggy forest. So I decided to follow the muddy trail, slowly, listening to the silence and the occasional woodpecker, working hard in the high crowns of the trees.

I got off my bike and I walked beside it, looking closely for signs of life.

The snowdrops were brave enough to sprout between the fallen leaves. The forest it getting ready for the impending spring.

Until next time,

Leonard

There’s a quiet magic in using public transport—a moving theater of humanity. On trams, buses, and trains, we step inside as strangers, yet for a fleeting moment, our lives intertwine. We glimpse each other’s lives: a student lost in their notes, a parent soothing a restless child, a tired worker gazing at the passing scenery. For most, the journey is simply a necessity of daily life, but public transport can be a means of discovery—not just of where we live and its surroundings but of the people we share it with.

Even though working from home has limited the trips that I'm making now, taking public transport is first and foremost a lovely day out, whenever needed. Although I’d love using my bicycle, living out in the suburbs limits my choices - and I'm feeling lucky enough we at least have a bus here - which most of the suburbs do not.

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Exploring

I remember when I first moved in Constanta, which was the biggest town next to where I born: I was able to use my student pass to travel across the city in all the buses, getting to know it, and explore it, which I could have never done by foot. With a little sadness, I remember the old tram lines that I used to ride when I was a child - but which were unfortunately pulled out, as in many other cities.

Later on in life, when I moved to Bucharest, I decided to do the same: hop on the longer bus or tram routes, and get to know the city.

Although I always loved the subway train - and the idea of getting in the underground in one point of the city, and coming out the other way feels magical - I'd sometimes rather have the chance of seeing the city, than the dark tunnels. Even more so if we’re talking about train rides out of the city:

I enjoy the public transport not just as a way to explore but for the pleasure of the experience. That’s often not the case for commuters, for whom the frequent diversions and stop-start progress can be infuriating, but when you have nowhere to be, there is an almost therapeutic quality in ceding all responsibility to the driver and seeing where you end up.

Sometimes it’s the passengers themselves that lend public transport its sense of spontaneity. Although I'm not the type to seek out a conversation with a stranger - I usually have my headphones on - one of the pleasures of using public transport is that it's impossible to shut people off completely. For better or for worse. And seeing life happen around you.

I discovered so many places that I never would have known about had I not passed them on the bus, tram or train.

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Social bonding

It also speaks to the importance of public transport as a social lifeline: a space to travel together. I remember taking the "maxi taxi" bus, which was a much smaller bus that was passing the building I was living in, and I was taking it daily at least a couple of times. I knew all the drivers, and they knew me, too. It was stopping anywhere you wanted, not only in stations, and they already knew my usual stops: home, work, uni, downtown.

Controversy

Unlike cars, which isolate us in bubbles of steel and glass, public transport draws us together. It’s a shared space, a rhythm that links lives otherwise separate. We may not speak, but we share the journey, the pauses, the small human moments that remind us we are never truly alone.

Perhaps this is the quiet power of public transport: it connects us. Not just across distances, but to one another, in ways that are both fleeting and profound.

I will get into it with a later article, but for now, I just want tot say that "A developed country is not a place where the poor have cars. It's where the rich use public transportation." (Gustavo Petro)

And maybe Paul McCartney can convince you, too:

In conclusion

Public transport is more than just a means of getting from point A to point B. It is a microcosm of the world we inhabit, a space where we are reminded—if only for a moment—that we are all part of something larger. The public transport is something that we inherently share with the world. It's ours, but it’s also everyone else’s.

As our cities grow and change, as we strive to live more intentionally and sustainably, the importance of these shared spaces becomes ever clearer. So, next time you board a bus, a tram, or a train, take a moment to look around—not just at where you’re going, but at the people you’re traveling with. In these fleeting moments, there’s a quiet joy, a profound connection, and perhaps, a glimpse of the ineffable.

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PS: I hope the mighty plans of the EU will create a (better) high speed rail network in Europe. It’s time to ditch that plane.

We’ve become adept at filling our homes with stuff. We're buying more than ever and we never seem to be satisfied with what we have.

Wouldn't it be nice, though, to live a simpler life, to reclaim time and energy, and to do the things that truly matter to us?

The single greatest benefit to overcoming consumerism is contentment.

When we decide to stop chasing more: more gadgets, more clothing, more everything, we break free from the cycle of dissatisfaction that consumerism stirs up.

To live is to consume. We need food in order to live. We need a roof over our heads. We need clothes to keep us warm. But consumerism becomes excessive when it extends beyond what it's needed. When we begin consuming more than is needed, boundaries are removed. Personal credits allow us to make purchases above our income level, advertisements reshape our desires around material possessions, and the consumption culture that surrounds us is making excessive consumption appear natural and normal. It promises happiness, but it never delivers, and instead it only creates a desire for more.

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The story of stuff begins in our imagination and in our fantasies. That's the space where we dream about all the things that we would love to have, and what a wonderful life we could have if only we could have this stuff.

In a bid for growth, capitalism has turned everything into a consumable product, by having us rapidly replace our possessions. It’s a recipe that has worked well for shareholders but less so for the environment, and for our mental health.

During the pandemic, our consumer mindset had the time to reflect and see how superficial the industry is. We were already seeing a comeback of individuals that appreciate what they own, feeling pride in where it came from and keeping it for longer. The importance of health, family and community has been reinvigorated, but a few years down the line, seems like we have already forgotten that, and we’ve succumed again to shortsighted growth and material satisfaction.

Unless our capitalistic economy is replaced by a better system where people are more able to appreciate inner-beauty and seek for inner peace, and not from new gadgets or trendy clothing, we will struggle to learn this collectively.

We cannot shop our way to sustainability. Only by reducing product output and decreasing consumption habits, can we turn this around.

Not only are companies profiting from selling goods produced irresponsibly in the global south to more privileged countries, they’re also making the waste they’re creating someone else’s problem. As a result, we are stuck in an outdated linear system; produce, use, discard. It’s time for a rethink.

There is no throwing "away". Things don't magically disappear. They go somewhere.

As owners, our relationship to the things we have or want to purchase needs to change, turning them from a mere consumable to an object with an intrinsic personal value. We need to develop a better understanding of quality, what it takes to create them, their environmental impact, and appreciate each piece for as long as possible.

To appreciate that extending a product’s lifetime slows down consumption and production, reduces waste and in turn lowers the environmental impact.

To realise that we don’t really want stuff, new clothes or food delivered to us instantly.

To understand that what we actually want is love, community, a sense of belonging and joy; but we’ve been taught the only way we achieve these essential components of life is to buy them.

Nothing you buy will transform the hole into a whole.

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And even though most of us end up in an urban environment, or were born there, we now feel more alone than ever - we barely know our neighbours, our lives feel hurried and we are constantly looking for ways to escape it.

A big(ger) city has so many things to offer. And that’s why we’re so drawn to it. But designing it should take advantage of this richness. And, rather than keeping people away from each other - it should invite them to collaboration and community.

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So what’s happening?

Cities were always built around people. The heart of the city was made up by the people living in it, and the public spaces everyone was spending their time in.

But recently, especially after WW2, we have decided to give up everything we knew. Mindless planning, bad decisions and most importantly, forgetting about the things that make us human, we ended up building these huge cities that have so much potential for everyone, but they end up isolating us from each other.

Cities are overflowing with cars, constant noise, honking, air pollution, commercials at every corner, and no sense of belonging.

It only feels like the means to an end. Just a temporary phase in one’s life. Maybe thinking this is part of the problem, too.

And most people dream of retiring far in the woods or in the country side, to escape all this.

But what if we could actually build better? What if we could build our cities for the people?

What if we felt safe when we got out of the house?

What if instead of getting fatter, sadder and sicker, we’d all benefit from a walk or a bike ride to work, school or bakery?

What if we could listen to the birds and have nature around us, without having to leave the city?

When a city is designed for people, when you have the freedom to move around by yourself, no matter of your financial situation, when there are public spaces all around you, built to make your life better, it’s easier to feel better.

My wife and I loved reading and watching videos about Amsterdam, so a few years ago we decided to visit it. We had a room in a hotel close to Vondelpark, and every morning after breakfast, we’d have our coffee on the stairs outside, watching people go by with their daily lives: to work, to school, daycare, to the market and so on. And everyone was doing this on their bicycles!

People in suits, in casual clothes, dresses, with children as passengers, and with a smile on their face. It’s impossible not to be smiling when you see this.

And I believe the impact of this goes even further: when you see everyone riding a bicycle, just as you, when everyone is sharing the same space instead of being isolated in a metal cages - you feel included.

We had the chance of exploring a lot of towns only by riding our bicycles and using public transport. That was freedom like I’ve never experienced before. And I loved it.

What if we cannot build better (yet)?

Then we should look for local actions that would improve our lives.

Unfortunately, not all of us live in a good place, nor can we move in one. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t solutions.

Meet your neighbours. Plant some trees together. Install a bench and hang out with them. Organise a community garden, or a community park.

Reach out to the local council, maybe together, and ask for things that empower you. A friendlier city.

Instead of constantly dreaming about the plot of land, isolated by everyone, I think it’s more important to start building a community.

We all deserve the right to a city that’s built for us. It shouldn’t be an option for the rich only. It should be a fundamental right.

What makes a city great is first and foremost its citizens - we’re the ones that can make a city beautiful.

So.. get out there. Meet your neighbours. Look for what could be improved, and do it. Reach out to the local council. You’d be surprised how easily you can transform the place in front of your building and its surroundings,as well as your city.

Our home (or town, for that matter) didn’t have internet until maybe 2004, but we were still able to get our hands on new music and films through “a guy” that was getting them through software like DC++.

As there was no cinema in our city, this is how my brother and I were able to watch Lord of The Rings shortly after it was launched. And I must say, this is when I was left in complete awe, through the incredible world of Tolkien illustrated by Peter Jackson’s cinematography.

I vividly remember the scene where we’re seeing Rivendell from afar, and then it zooms in. A biophilic city, within nature.

Seeing the Elves perform through the whole trilogy as nurturers of nature and its protectors made me see the world through new lens. Instead of plundering Middle Earth like the Men and other races, the Elves have chosen to be a part of nature.

Further down the line, these concepts are still the ones that inspire me in my work today: working in communities, integrating nature in our cities and nurturing it, leaving space for wilderness.