Hold a fossil in your palm — maybe a coiled ammonite or the imprint of a leaf pressed into shale — and you are holding a page from the planet’s diary.
Fossils are not merely remnants of the past; they are echoes of persistence. They form when life, in its final moment, finds a way to leave a mark. Over millions of years, sediments bury bones, shells, and leaves, slowly turning them to stone. What remains isn’t life, but its memory mineralized — a conversation between biology and geology.
In that sense, fossils are storytellers. They whisper of vanished seas, forgotten forests, and creatures that once ruled the Earth. They reveal how life has stumbled, adapted, and begun again — how extinction and evolution are twin threads in nature’s long narrative.
To study fossils is to look backward and forward at once. It’s to understand that our own existence, too, is temporary — that we are part of this great sediment of time. Someday, what we build, touch, or love might become someone else’s fossil. Perhaps that’s what the Earth does best — it doesn’t erase, it remembers.
bhaskar saikia 
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