One of the more traditional activities when winter persists is to venture into the life of a Saint or into an interpretation of the scriptures, a word that comes from Latin where it meant something like "the act of writing." In the more dour mood, my preference is to go to the honesty of the Psalms and listen to the moaning and groaning of an earlier incarnation of the current aristocratic class, who several thousand years ago were also desperate to get some sort of approval. But back then we didn't have the television that employed a paid professional, instead we had something like a suppurating sore that bloated and lead to a slow and painful death.
"He sitteth in the lurking places of the villages." Which is just
lovely, and something I too would like to do, because it sounds warm, shady and
peaceful. But then, "He," goes on to "secretly murder the innocent." Which
is a little bleak and mysterious, because you have to ask why back in those
days, did "He" murder the innocent "secretly." And I guess in a sense the last
sentence of verse eight, Psalm Ten, kind of explains it. "His eyes are
privily set against the poor." And here 'privily' also comes from a
Latin word, where it meant something like "not in public."