Feb. 8 1831- Ellen dies at 19

Not even two years after we began our journey I lost my dear sweet Ellen to the battle of tuberculosis. Her loss aches my heart but my mind sees the pattern and cycle in life. Birth, life, death. Everyone cycles through them in different timings. A fish may live a year, and a tree may live hundreds of years before the inevitable death. Her life was very much like that of a flower. She grew and sprouted and flourished, but slowly she began to fade away. And as each petal fell, she became weaker and weaker and more susceptible to death. Till here was no more water to drink for lief, she withered away with one final goodbye.
I retreat to the woods in this time to contemplate birth and death and everything in between. What will I live to see? Will my life reflect that of harmonies connection or dried away discourse?