Spring is renewal. That’s a bit of a cliche, probably because it holds such a constant truth. Life cycles through phases even in the most temperate climates: birth, growth, decline, death, rebirth. Our Pine Street friends find themselves recognizing the signs of spring on the way: in the sounds of birds discovering the last of the seeds or nuts dangling from the trees, in the rush of sudden wind that scours clouds from the sky, in the trickles of melting snow and ice, water percolating from shrinking piles of snow into the yards, fields, meadows.

Jeeves senses it in her ever-older bones: the creaks and expansions triggered by longer hours of daylight. She pauses before stepping across the threshold of the coffee shop for today’s Stitch and Bitch club meeting. 

Another cycle, another turn of the wheel. It should be exhilarating. Why is it that all I feel is tired?

She takes a deep breath, shakes off the funk, and plasters a smile on her face even though she is masked. Old habits die hard, and besides, her eyes will show the tell-tale crinkles that mean her mouth is drawn upward. Her fellow stitchers will see that and believe all is well.

The smile becomes more genuine when Jeeves sees that Kassandra is working today. The two of them have begun a lovely friendship, surprising as it is to find oneself connecting with someone with several decades less experience of life. 

Well, she’s an old soul, I suppose. Jeeves waves, nestles her knitting bag in a chair at the club’s table, and heads to the counter to place her order. 

“The usual this morning?” Kassandra asks. 

Now how nice is that, to have a “usual”? Jeeves nods, asks the young artist how she’s doing, receives the assurance all is well, offers the same in return. 

Settling in with the other stitchers, Jeeves makes a decision: this morning, the bitching will not be fueled by her. Let the others indulge. She will rise above.

The fact that this resolution lasts less than fifteen minutes does not dismay her, as she barely notices.