Notions of home are as much a projection of our dreams and memories as they are the bricks and linen cupboards that anchor them. Tangled in the sheets of inner-urban Melbourne, Arcadia is a fever dream of pastoral histories. Shafts of light lend weight to rustic walls; burnt-out chimneys dot the landscape, some still burning; distant views draw the eye; inside and out, the house is ablush with the perpetual hue of an early rise and an early rest. It’s enough to get the roosters crowing.