the Sandpiper, an adaptation

Across the narrow, sandy beach the Sandpiper wanders. I sit there by the rocks in the morning mist, watching her gather sticks so white and dry they looked like bones. Driven by strong winds, the water laps on the beach shore. The clouds grow blacker and scud dark and thick across the sky, slowly spreading from the horizon, infecting the whole sky, it’s silent ghosts and misty shrouds engulfing us. Sweet and mournful is her cry. She does not start as the wind grabs hold of my coat and shirttails and whips them about. She has a steady eye and does not loose sight of her goal—a nest to build before it is too late. The storm draws closer and still she works away. I stoke my driftwood fire. There is no shelter and if she does not move soon she will be swept away. The wind rages and the storm rushes towards the beach. We are here together, her and I.

This was another rhetoric assignment, actually a declamation--but I didn't end up presenting it (i wrote another one to fit better in the guidelines given).