Zula Bennington Greene, who was better known to readers of The Topeka Capital-Journal and other Kansas publications as "Peggy of the Flint Hills," first published this column on Jan. 2, 1951. It seems appropriate today.

The winds of time are blowing across the world. They come from the far mists of the first beginning. They blow beyond the world to the unseen, unknown mists of time’s ending.

They blow clean and strong over the world, winnowing hope from discouragement, separating faith from despair, sweeping away the rust of failures and the broken bits of dreams.

Time sweeps ahead, never back. It leaves old sorrows to soak into the earth and clears a space to start building for the new year.

To cling to the past is to suffer slow decay. It is tacit admission that the best of life is over, that the peak is past, that the memory of the past is more pleasant than imagination of the future.

Whether you are running up a golden hill straight into the blue sky, or are on the steep down grade with the mists in sight, there is no place to go but ahead.

If only a few years remain, they are all the more precious. Spend them as a traveler crossing the desert spends his one canteen of water. If you have many to spend, make them buy what you most desire.

Time is the rich treasure, the years of life, which turn out to be not years, but days doled out in trickling hours and in dropping minutes.

No polished stone or hidden chest can compare with the richness of time, and each person is given a portion for his own.

He can not stop time while he sits down to think and ponder how it shall be spent. It flows on like the taxi meter, whether he is still or moving. The winds of time are blowing across the world and they do not stop.