Monochrome memories

Memories of my first visit to the sea are quaintly sepia tinted like the black and white photographs bearing testimony of the trip. The moments have remained frozen in monochrome – the only aids to my stray memory. The starkly black, decayed wooden pier, the rolling waves crashing into white foam at my feet, the peculiar sensation of the sand being reclaimed by the waves and I break into a run. It was many years before I overcame my fear of water – in any copious amounts. Pools or ponds or rivers or oceans – all elicited acute terror in the little boy. But that was my first encounter with the sea. And there was no vivid melting of the blue sea into the horizon – no pretty sunset on the beach in Technicolor – just black and white images in sharp contrast. My tiny pair of pyjamas – white as were the frothy breakers. The photos now lie neglected – small prints with white borders – and with time the colours have faded and yellowed.
I wonder – is that really a quaint misfortune? I struggle with every effort to remember –happy memories torment me in their lucid inadequacies.