A free, downloadable online library
Welcome to Windy Hill! This site is an online library or archive of sorts. Its purpose is mainly to make information available on popular and high-demand topics that are useful and interesting to serious readers.
Accessing the contents of the Windy Hill Library is both simple and secure. The thousands of books, articles, photos, videos, audio recordings, and links are stored in an anti-virus equipped Dropbox.com account owned by Windy Hill. If you want to gain access to this site's Dropbox, just email the site manager using the form on the Contact Page and request the link to it. You will receive a reply email with the link as soon as possible--usually no more than two or three hours. The link will remain with you until you decide to delete it.
The site's content pages offer a summary of the library's main subject areas at this time. New subjects are added (depending on demand) about every 4-6 weeks, and site visitors are welcome to suggest new topics for consideration.
Sample screenshot of some of the large subject folders (L) and smaller file folders (R) in Dropbox. In this case, the files are from the WW II German Armor collection that is housed in the Military History Folder.
Site Manager: Joe E. Vines, Ph.D.
Established April 2014 (map refreshed in June)
July Profile: Clara Bow
America's Jazz Age Girl of Silent Films
Poetry in July: Pablo Neruda Art in July: Claude Monet
What's wrong with you, with us,
what's happening to us?
Ah our love is a harsh cord
that binds us wounding us
and if we want
to leave our wound,
it makes a new knot for us and condemns us
to drain our blood and burn together.
What's wrong with you? I look at you
and I find nothing in you but two eyes
like all eyes, a mouth,
lost among a thousand mouths that I have kissed, more beautiful,
a body just like those that have slipped
beneath my body without leaving any memory.
And how empty you went through the world
like a wheat-colored jar
without air, without sound, without substance!
I vainly sought in you
depth for my arms
that dig, without cease, beneath the earth:
beneath your skin, beneath your eyes,
beneath your double breast scarcely
a current of crystalline order
that does not know why it flows singing.
Why, why, why,
my love, why?
"Portrait of a Woman"