The forecast today was for gusty south-westerlies, strengthening and then bringing rain. These winds drag Antarctic cold onto the exposed places of the East Coast. I dug out my stepson's jacket, packed the thermos, and headed out to Sponge Bay. 

As usual, turning onto the Sponge Bay road invited a shift into mindfulness. No paradise ducks on the blue container. I always look for them now. Black and white cows grazing the hills, the crooked winding of a fence-line, and the grey sky ahead. Just before I turned the car into the carpark I noticed a group of magpies, seven of them, spread out but within a few square metres of each other. I can't remember seeing them in such a group before - one or two, certainly, but never a group.

My friend was there ahead of me, the hatchback of her car open, her heavy oilskin coat on already, pulling on her warm hat. We agreed it was freezing. We walked over to the side of the bay looking back towards Gisborne. As we stepped onto the grass I noticed a male paradise duck, sitting very still, a few metres away. It looked as if it had been carved out of wood and painted, a decoy rather than the real thing.

It's rare, in my experience, to see a paradise duck on its own. They are usually in pairs - male and female - or in very large flocks. We tried to skirt around it so as not to disturb it, but it stood up fairly quickly. Its right leg was damaged. A ball of sadness turned over in my body. Was this why it was alone? We kept on walking. It settled back down on the grass.

Despite the greyness over the bay, there were flickers of sunlight on the hills that form the sides of the basin surrounding Gisborne city. Tuamotu Island looked dark.

I decided to sit in the car to sketch. It was just too cold to sit outside. As you can see from the photograph above, Mahia Peninsula was not visible, nor was the continuation of hills that can usually be seen meeting the sea along the coast south of Young Nick's Head. We were expecting rain any minute.

As I walked back, the duck lifted itself into the sky, its hurt leg dangling beneath it. 

South-westerlies always bring rain. Ahead of the rain, the sky was heavily overcast. There were no shadows on the Sponge Bay headland. The contrast between sky, headland and sea was reduced to a narrow range of tones. I did three thumbnails - the first the geometric shapes, the second to play with the composition and the third to explore the tones.

The dotted lines show the thumbnail divided into a 'rule of thirds' grid. This grid can be used to guide the distribution of objects along its lines. For example, in the photograph above, I have placed the horizon on the lower horizontal line, and in the sketch below, I have done the same. The intersections can be used to place points of interest. In the photograph I have placed Tuamotu Island on the intersection, and in the sketch, the end of the headland on the same intersection. I think our brains look for patterns. If we place the horizon line halfway up the page, then our brain cuts the scene in two. This is not a restful thing to look at. The shapes interact with the frame which encloses them.

I wanted this sketch to be about the sky which was constantly changing in the high wind. The light on the sea was also constantly changing, with lines of brightness shooting across it.

When my friend sat in my car to have her cuppa with me, she suggested we drive a little further north of Sponge Bay for our next sketching trip, just for a change. So for now, we say goodbye to Sponge Bay.