Not only do I have great passion for what I can see but also the presence of what I feel---(the story that follows will explain)
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A closer view was requested---for those that have not read the story behind this barn I have again posted below--

On my shoot, I thought I would drive the same route again since it had recently snowed to capture the difference of the landscape. Something just made me stop at this old barn again, just wanted to 'hang' there for a minute. As I was walking up and down the road trying to absorb all the character of this great architect, an older man from a house near by walked up beside me and just stood there, towering well above me, not speaking a word. It was quite an experience; we seemed to communicate without talking. Finally, he asked. "Do you see him?" For some strange reason, I answered, "No, but I can feel him, who is he?" He responded, "I'm pretty sure it's my Dad." He said his Dad was really proud of that barn, so many years after his Dad passed he decided to fix it up starting with a new roof, just wanting to do something in memory of his father. After taking so long to complete the roof because workers would be 'spooked' off and refuse to return, he decided to let the barn be, believing his Dad wasn't pleased with 'all the ruckus'. Getting around to introducing ourselves I learned his friends call him Shack for his sir name, Shackelford. I asked Shack if we could go inside. He looked at me, grinning, and said, "Well, you first struck me as a 'little bit' that wasn't afraid of much." We walked down the slope and into the barn grinning at one another. Shack asked me if I was afraid, I responded, "Not at all." I know this sounds very strange, but I could certainly feel a gentle heaviness to the surrounding air and smell Old Spice cologne. I sat down on an old milk bucket just looking around and trying to really 'get' the feel I was experiencing. Shack asked me what I was thinking. I told him that his father must have been a very gentle, loving man. He said, "Yes, he was a preacher to the same congregation all of his life since he was 19 years old until he left us when he was 79 years old. To me, that explained the gentle heaviness of the 'air'.