Sea Turtle Time
    
The morning was dark and cold. Stars winked down from the sky and a half moon shone down.
    
“Varrow, wake up,” Gramps whispered, shaking me awake. “It’s sea turtle time.”
    
I rubbed my eyes and took in the shadows that surrounded us. It was so dark that I couldn’t see my bed. Then, a sudden jolt of electricity shot through me as I remembered. Sea turtle time. I had forgotten.

Gramps and I pulled on our heavy waterproof boots over our pajamas and heaved rain jackets on our shoulders. The front door creaked as I pushed it open and ran out onto the beach, Gramps not far behind.

I gasped. Thousands of baby sea turtles, as far as the eye could see, were stretched out upon the soft sand. But Gramps and I weren’t there to watch. We had a job. Carefully, we made our way through the mess of broken shells and little sea turtles in search of those that needed help.

I spotted one right away. A baby sea turtle was flipped on its back, unable to get right side up. Reaching my hand down, I gently picked up the fragile baby and carried it down to the waves, where it crawled into the ocean, the tide carrying it away.

“Nice job, Varrow.” Gramps smiled, his beetle-black eyes twinkling and his mouth stretching into a smile beneath his beard. I felt a rush of pride and spent the next couple of hours working twice as hard because of it.

By 7:00 the last sea turtles were crawling into the water and Gramps and I were slumped over in the soft sand, exhausted. But proud. It was a job done.

As the sun rose and people began to wake up, no one in the world would know that the most beautiful part of nature had happened right under their noses as they slept.