I could take away the salt from your eyes

  My hair goes swoosh swoosh swoosh when I run. From shoulder blade to shoulder blade it swings back and forth, forth and back. I cover pavement, dirt, clay, grass. Last night, I accidentally stepped into a six-inch deep dark murky puddle. Swoosh swoosh swoosh.

It's brown hair. I don't know what other color to call it. It's not dark brown, so I guess it's light brown. It doesn't have highlights, so I guess it's plain. It's only been dyed once. That time it was dark brown. Or dark red brown. Or dark red black. It was dark. And it was hard to maintain.

I want it out of my way, out of my sight. I want it back in a long pony where it catches the sweat and protects my neck from the sun. I don't care what color it is, though I assume all this running will turn it light brown. Or light, light brown. Not the color of pavement or dirt or grass, but maybe the color of clay. Swoosh swoosh swoosh.