A friend of mine is desperate. He says he is “hanging by a thread.” I believe

we are at that crossing point in the autumn season. Many of the leaves have already fallen.

The beautiful, radiant colours that decorated the hillsides have now turned brown. Although a ride in the countryside is still breathtaking, it has lost a little of its lustre.

That’s how my friend sees his life. The once sparkling, bubbly personality is much like the leaves that reached their peak and now just hang there, dried out, waiting to fall. My friend is just barely hanging on.

Hearing him speak so dimly about life just sends me into sadness. Oh, he really doesn’t want to die. But he is holding a funeral for his vibrant spirit. He wants to bury it. But you see it is alive — buried alive inside him beneath layers of doubt and thoughts of failure. He’s smothered it to the point where it too is hanging by a thread.

But here is how life works. He tells me this over the phone just as I am looking out my window toward my backyard.

It’s covered with leaves. I hate raking leaves. This will sound terrible, but I usually wait until most of the leaves have fallen and the great autumn winds have swept across my property.

That’s right — I’m hoping that most of them blow away onto someone else’s land. The guy across the street needs the exercise more than I do. Well, here I am having this conversation about my friend’s failing marriage. — Beliefnet.com