Why am I looking for pavement fossils?

Once I began to notice these impressions, it was fun to imagine myself as a paleontologist in the urban present.

Since the pavement fossils are essentially the same color as the surrounding concrete, they are most visible when light passes through them; The elusive midday fossil may announce itself at dawn or dusk. So I timed a second daily flight to the hour the light escaped. An afternoon introduced me to small, forked footprints, which might have marked the scene of a bird skirmish. There were others: dog feet, and three-quarters of a shoe. Although ichthyologists, studying archaeological fossils, might discount the leaves, I was also struck by them: most of London and ginkgo, with its rippling fan. On the other side of the enclosed snack cart, I knelt down until the cold concrete raised my knees. I discarded the glove and traced the leaf’s sharp, diagonal veins and its saw-toothed sides.

When scientists come across a fossil, they often try to work out the explanation for how it got there. An animal may have been stranded, swept off its feet, or chased away by predators. Once I began to notice these impressions, it was fun to imagine myself as a paleontologist in the urban present. An abundance of bird feet made me wonder if someone had sprinkled seeds or dropped bread. How long? what type? When a leaf didn’t seem to match any of the nearby trees, I wondered if it was an intruder, blown off from blocks away or if it was witnessing an ecological clearing–a tree uprooted and replaced with another species or replaced with pavement. The excavations focused my attention on something tangible but also invited him to wander and think about city streets as assemblages of the past and present, and how our non-human neighbors are also architects. How we all shed traces of ourselves, whether we know it or not.

Of course, there is more important evidence of the past. Mammoths sometimes appear in farmers’ fields, their tusks curved like sickles left in the dirt. Dinosaur footprints still march along the banks or bottoms of some prehistoric rivers and seas. These are brilliant, flashy and clear. I lined up to see them. I am fortunately. But it was exciting to come across evidence of the past that was both accurate and recent, evidence that there were others out there. Pavement fossils felt intimate—the paleontological equivalent of a set of letters sifting away under a floorboard.

Only they are not actually rare. When the docks are repaired, the birds and other animals ignore attempts to keep them pristine. Leaves do what the wind asks. These fossils are easy to find, and we are so lucky to have them. When I lingered in the worst parts of my brain, the pavement fossils kicked me out. Unlike many fossils that represent stillness, the moment an animal died and the place it stayed unless humans dug it free, pavement fossils are often a peek into life that goes on. Birds flew somewhere. I hope the dogs were wagging on the many sticks and scents. As the sun was setting as I walked home, the fossils—these little flukes, these interesting accidents—were reminders of a delightful little life.