We woke up in Buxton this morning, a small rural village nestled between Healesville and Alexandra, just an hour and a half north-east of Melbourne’s heart. Tucked beside the Stevensons River and only a short drive from Marysville, Buxton feels like a well-kept secret, a quiet corner of Victoria where nature truly sings.

This whole region is a paradise for those who love the outdoors — surrounded by towering alpine mountains, lush forests, and crisp, clean air that feels like a balm to the soul. It’s the kind of place where you open the window and breathe in more deeply, almost instinctively.

This morning, though, something magical happened. As we rubbed the sleep from our eyes and looked out the window, we both paused. The light outside was different — almost dreamlike. It played tricks on us, shifting the gardens into something otherworldly. Yesterday’s golden hues had faded away, replaced by a soft, blushing pink. The entire garden had taken on the appearance of a fairy tale — muted, delicate, and enchanting, like a secret world had tiptoed in overnight.

The trees, the flowers, even the shadows — all tinged with pink as if the dawn had decided to dress in pastels just for us. It felt like we were peeking into a fairy garden, stepped inside a painting or woken up inside a dream. We were caught in a moment so gentle and surreal that we dared not speak too loudly, afraid we’d scare it away.

We took our time this morning — our last morning on this autumn getaway — savouring our cuppas and soaking in the beauty that surrounded us. Then Rudolph came to say hello. Yes, Rudolph! Anything that reminds me of Christmas — no matter how subtle or unexpected — fills me with warmth.

Our first stop for the day was just a short six-kilometre drive away: the Gould Memorial Walk. We’d hoped to catch the full glory of autumn’s golden hues, but once again, we were a few weeks too early — or perhaps the unseasonably warm weather has delayed the change. The leaves hadn’t quite turned yet, not in the way we’d imagined, but even so, the walk was still well worth it.

Some of the trees had just begun their seasonal transformation, tinges of gold peeking through the green, giving us a lovely preview of what’s to come. It sparked our imagination — how breathtaking this place will be once autumn is in full swing.

It’s definitely a spot I’d love to return to in a couple of weeks. I can already picture the canopy of colour, the rustling leaves underfoot, and that quiet kind of beauty that only autumn can bring.

We continued our drive towards Marysville, but once again, we didn’t get very far before pulling over to admire more autumn-coloured trees.

Marysville once again greeted us with magnificent autumn colours that quite literally took my breath away.

There aren’t many things in this world that speak to my soul as loudly and clearly as the colours of autumn do.

They have a power unlike anything else — the way they stir something deep within, bringing emotion to the surface, watering my eyes and unlocking something I often keep tucked away.

It’s as if, in that moment, my soul breaks free from its cage — completely unbound and alive.

As we wandered through the Marysville gardens, my attention was drawn to a beautiful statue created by local artist Bruno Torfs.

The sculpture, titled The New Life Sculpture, was erected after the devastating Black Saturday bushfires of 2009. It stands as a permanent symbol of new life within the community — a gentle yet powerful reminder of resilience, hope, and regeneration.

It’s hard to believe it’s already been sixteen years since those fires — an event etched into the memories of all of us who lived through it here in Victoria. And yet, standing in Marysville today, there’s no doubt that the town has awakened to new life. It can be seen in every corner, from the vibrant gardens to the bustling main street. The beauty of this place, especially in autumn, feels like nature’s quiet tribute to endurance and renewal.

And the little statue girl — there she stood with such quiet grace — was wearing Crocs, just like my little granddaughter Freyja loves to do. That tiny detail made me smile. It was unexpected, sweet, and somehow made the sculpture feel even more alive, more real. In that moment, the statue wasn’t just a symbol of new life after tragedy — it became a gentle bridge between generations, between past and present.

The autumn colours of Marysville continued to dazzle us at every turn.

Trees lined the streets in a rich tapestry of amber, crimson, russet, and gold — each leaf a brushstroke in nature’s masterpiece.

It’s hard to explain how much joy those colours bring me.

They wrap around me like a warm hug, softening the edges of the world. Even the air felt different — clean, and laced with the earthy scent of fallen leaves. We walked slowly, taking it all in, letting the colours settle into us like a memory we’d want to revisit again and again.

Eventually, our footsteps led us to the Marysville Country Bakery for lunch — an absolute must whenever we’re in town. Of course, Peter made a beeline for his favourite doughnuts (he says no trip to Marysville is complete without them!), and I must admit, they really are something special — still warm, pillowy soft, with that perfect dusting of sugar.

But Peter being Peter, he couldn’t resist. With that familiar twinkle in his eye, he quietly broke off a piece of his doughnut and held it out. Sure enough, one of the king parrots — bold and curious — fluttered a little closer and accepted the sweet offering. I shook my head and laughed. It was such a “Peter” moment — his soft spot for animals always showing itself, even when he pretends to be a little gruff.

The birds clearly knew they’d found a friend, because they stuck around, keeping us company as we finished our lunch.

It turned our little meal into something unexpectedly joyful, like a scene from a postcard — autumn leaves gently falling around us, parrots perched nearby, and Peter grinning like a kid as he shared his treat.

Those are the moments I tuck away carefully — the simple, quiet ones that make life feel full.

Sharing our lunch hour with those vibrant birds, surrounded by the glory of autumn and the hum of a town that’s been through so much yet still stands proud — it all felt incredibly special.

A simple moment, yes, but full of life, colour, and connection. Just like Marysville itself.

After lunch, we decided to squeeze in one last little adventure before moving on — a quick visit to Steavenson Falls, which is just a short drive from the heart of Marysville.

As we walked the gentle path toward the falls, the sound of rushing water grew louder. The late afternoon light filtered through the trees, casting golden highlights on the ferns and trunks around us.

And then, there it was — Steavenson Falls, tumbling down the rocks with power and grace. The water caught the light as it fell, creating a shimmer that danced across the surface. We stood there for a moment, just breathing it in — the soothing rush of the falls, the mist in the air, and the stillness of the surrounding forest.

It was a fitting way to end our visit to Marysville — a reminder of the strength and beauty of nature, just like Marysville itself. Even this quick visit to the falls left us feeling refreshed, grounded, and grateful.

We had one more stop before we made it home — one I’d been looking forward to for quite some time. The Blue Lotus Water Garden in Warburton had been on my list for a while, but I’d never managed to get there during peak lotus season. This year was no different; we’d missed it again. By this point in autumn, most of the lotus flowers had already finished their show, their graceful blooms now a memory. Their time had passed… but the gardens still had something to offer.

We drove there through the beautiful Black Spur, a winding stretch of road that weaves its way through towering mountain ash trees and lush green ferns.

And when we made it to the other side of the Black Spur and arrived in Warburton, we were once again greeted by beautiful autumn colours.

When we arrived at The Blue Lotus Water Garden, we realised that even without the lotuses in full bloom, it held a quiet charm.

This was autumn’s moment now, and the gardens were still full of colour and texture — pops of late-blooming flowers tucked between lush greenery.

The whole space seemed to hum with life, but in a gentler, more reflective way than I imagine it would in summer.

What surprised me most, though, was the atmosphere — it didn’t feel like Victoria at all.

There was something distinctly tropical in the air.

Maybe it was the warm sunshine that lingered well into the afternoon, the surrounding mountains that wrapped the garden in a green embrace, or the banana trees standing tall and leafy in the middle of it all.

It honestly felt more like a little slice of Queensland than anything we’re used to down south.

We walked along winding paths…

….that led us past lily ponds….

…over bridges…

…past weeping trees…

…and through pockets of colourful autumn flowers.

Brightly coloured tropical flowers peeked out from behind wide, leafy plants, and butterflies flitted lazily in the warm afternoon air.

It was easy to lose track of time in such a tranquil, otherworldly setting.

We wandered slowly, soaking it all in, and then stumbled across something unexpected — the Fairy Garden Playground.

Little fairy houses tucked into nooks, whimsical statues peeking out from behind ferns. I couldn’t help but think of my granddaughter — how much she would have loved this magical little corner of the garden.

Tucked near the entrance, we found a cosy little café — the perfect spot to pause, and enjoy a quiet drink while still soaking in the peaceful beauty of the gardens.

Even though the lotus flowers had mostly gone, I was so glad we stopped.

The Blue Lotus Water Garden still had plenty to offer — serenity, beauty, and just a touch of wonder.

And so, as the sun began to dip lower on the horizon, we found ourselves winding our way back home — content, grateful for the beauty we had seen and the time we had shared. It had been the perfect break — the kind that fills you up without rushing, that gives you space to breathe, notice, and just be.

And yet, as we unpacked our bags and settled back into everyday life, there it was — that quiet ache. The kind that comes when you’ve left a little piece of yourself somewhere special. A longing to return, not just to the places we visited, but to the way we felt while we were there.

Autumn had wrapped us in her arms and whispered, “slow down”. And we listened. And we’re already dreaming of going back.