Eleanor (Ely) Kish (1924–2014), Age of Dinosaurs, 1986, mural in Jurassic Hall.

New Mexico Museum of Natural History & Science (Albuquerque, NM).

Youth Category Winner 

"Untitled" by Diego Viscarra

From present to past, 

In the blink of an eye. 

Is it raining? 

 

A flight of stairs. 

Life new again. 

Eternal yet so temporary. 

 

Fragile. 

Beautiful.

Complex. 

Simple. 

 

Adult Category Winner

"Walk With Me" by Susan Gatewood

Early morning, I am drawn to this world of long ago, centries beyond count, 

When certain creatures had the earth, seas, and sky all to themselves. 

 

The aromas I perceive there seem totally natural, right, perfect. 

They are somehow supposed to be here forever, eras to come. 

Closing my eyes the fragrance of flowering flora, all sorts, blend to invade my brain, quietly but surely. 

 

Upon entering no sound was present, almost a complete vacuum. 

Quiet beyond quiet. 

 

A little time passes though, and from a distance a minute screech coming from the sky beyond view, growls, and footsteps grow lounder as a new day begins. 

Now I'm able to see, smell, and hear the beasts of the past as they wake to graze, 

fly, 

wade, 

protect their nests and young, 

flight to survive and live another day, 

rule the world as they were born to...until. 

 

Adult Category Honorable Mention

"Age of Dragons" by Taylor Smith

All we have was once for Dragons;

An era before grass, or our named mountains.

The stone teaches us only what it can hold,

Of astounding wonders, struggles, legends. Lives.

We hold their skulls in our desperate hands. 

We plead to them for truth, for tales. 

And we listen to the molecules and imprints, 

And hear the thunder of the dead. 

 

We attend to the altars of laboratories and dig sites-

Dedicated minds and knowledge piercing fragments, filling in blanks. 

We name them, and paint them, guessing their fears and hopes.

In Dragons, we find ourselves...

Our true names rest in their biological imperatives.

Characters in myths millions of years in the making-

They define our realities, our fantasies

Our hopes, for our own legacies...

 

What a privilege, to stand beneath their effigies.

Monuments of polyester and cast bone.

We reach, shaking, to the murals-

If only we could touch them, just once. 

Just once, to feel them breathe.

Could we sense if their blood was warm?

Could we note every color, every texture, every scale and feather?

Would they see us in their peripheral as threatless little things?

 

And we could watch them live...?

And can we?