Today is a day for being thankful, a day when we disregard our worries and foes, shake off the trials of yesterday and reflect on what is good and right in the world.

For the young and young-at-heart, taking stock in our many blessings on Thanksgiving is often as habitual as breathing in and out. This is definitely the case for little Miss Aubin Murphy. I met Aubin because I had heard about how thankful she was for flowers, trees and bumble bees, how she kept a garden journal and could rattle off the names of some very complex and out-of-the-ordinary flora. I rapped on her front door and heard her skipping toward it before she swung it open with a grin. There she was in a dress of many colors in a floral pattern that screamed, “I am no wallflower!”

Aubin’s two thin, blond braids protrude from her head like a couple of quizzical antennae. She repeatedly brushes back her bangs with her busy hands as she introduces herself in a burst of energy. Like most 7-year-olds, Aubin has a lust for life – all kinds of life. From her family and friends to shrubs and grass, she is inspired by it all.

I get cozy on Aubin’s couch while she flits back and forth, rotating her weight from one Mary Jane-clad foot to the other.

“I’m an outside girl,” she says. “I like to walk around the neighborhood and look at the interesting plants. It is mostly mums this time of year. I like to climb trees and play with my ball. I feel really thankful for nature. I feel safe in nature with all of the animals, plants and trees.”

I sigh. If only the simplicity of life were so clear to everyone.

Aubin grabs a stack of her favorite gardening books and explains that they’re teaching her a wealth of knowledge about the great outdoors.

“I learn a lot of flower names from my books,” she explains. “Now I’m learning the difference between flowers and plants. Plants have buds that don’t flower but turn to leaves or sprouts. I have a lot of favorite flowers, like dianthus and phlox. We have pink and white phlox in our garden. I’m a big help to my mom when she is working in the garden. In fact, I want to be a landscape architect. My mom is an art teacher, and my dad is an architect, so it is a perfect blend.”

Aubin has a lot to say.

She pauses for quick breaths and then continues in an excited manner that is absolutely contagious. As we start the tour of her garden, she is bounding about in reverie. She bends over to unearth a series of mosaic stepping stones, recounting how she helped her mother, Brigid, create them. As we walk, Aubin amazes me with her robust plant vocabulary: lamb’s ears, peonies, hostas, liriope, vinca, hydrangeas. She kicks some leaves aside to reveal black-eyed susans.

The family has a large crop of bamboo that was started with two small reeds. Aubin climbs into the heavily overgrown bamboo thicket and points out that those yellow ones will need a good trimming.

The majestic trees in Aubin’s Old West Lawrence neighborhood are at their peak of color today.

“My favorite tree in our neighborhood is the one in my backyard. It is big and strong,” she says. “I love to look up and pretend like I can reach its lowest branch and climb it.”

We gaze up at the sun sparkling through the tree’s canopy of canary yellow leaves. I can see why she gravitates to this particular tree; it is an awe-inspiring masterpiece by Mother Nature, who I’m sure appreciates having Aubin as a captive audience.

On the sidewalk, Aubin has created a drawing with charcoal.

She explains, “I was trying to draw a plant, but it morphed into the ponytails of this little girl.”

That seems about right: Aubin, moving with the punches, making lemonade out of lemons. It makes me think of a quote by Alphonse Karr, “Some people are always grumbling because roses have thorns; I am thankful that thorns have roses.”

So on this day of thankfulness – as we gather with friends and family and take a minute to concentrate on all of the good and beauty in this world – I hear little Aubin Murphy, chatting one hundred miles a minute about what she witnesses in nature and how that alone is enough to be thankful for all the hours of her young life.