Tilda and the Teeny-Tiny Tide

Tilda, a little crab, lived beneath a boardwalk by the sea. Every morning, the tide climbed over the shiny rocks and filled the little pools.

But one morning, the tide was teeny-tiny. It stopped far below the rocks, and the sun began to shrink the pools.

Tilda hurried to her favorite pool. Her purple sea-anemone neighbor had tucked in its soft arms. Three small fish swished round and round in a puddle no wider than Tilda’s claw.

“The water is going away,” Tilda said, clicking her claws. “We need shade.”

Tilda scuttled beneath the boardwalk. Long green ribbons of seaweed lay on the sand. She tugged one ribbon. It would not move. She tugged another. Too heavy.

A sandpiper landed nearby with a pebble in its beak. “What are you doing?” it asked.

“Making shade for the pool,” said Tilda. “Will you help me pull this seaweed?”

The sandpiper set down its pebble and gripped the ribbon with its beak. Tilda pulled with both claws. Scrrrape! The seaweed slid across the sand.

They stretched the seaweed over two rocks beside the pool. It made a cool, wobbly roof. The fish darted beneath the green shade. The anemone slowly opened one arm, then two.

“The tide is still far away,” said the sandpiper.

Tilda looked at the little pool. “Then we can help it last.” She and the sandpiper carried smooth, wet pebbles from the shore. Around the pool’s edge, they made a little wall so the water would not trickle away.

By afternoon, the sun hung low. Far out at sea, a silver line began to grow.

“Shhhhhh,” came the water, sliding over the sand.

At last, the tide reached the rocks and poured into every pool. Tilda stood on the highest pebble as a tiny wave curled around her feet.

The purple anemone waved all its arms. The fish flashed through the water like little coins.

The sandpiper picked up its pebble again. “Your roof was a fine idea,” it said.

Tilda smiled and tucked one last piece of green seaweed beneath her shell. “It may come in handy tomorrow.”