The Paint Pixie

I've got a secret. Please don't call me mad,
But I've seen a fairfolk, and not all of them are bad.
For the one I saw was as nice as you could be,
I can't remember what she preferred: fairy, or pixie.

Nevertheless, she wasn't too tall,
Or too big, too short, too thin or too small,
And she held a great big paintbrush in her hand,
Painting the skies blue, and the green land.

If it wasn't for her, they say, the leaves wouldn't turn red,
And all the hibernating creatures wouldn't know when to go to bed,
And the snow would lose its way while coming down south,
And instead of following colors, would get directions word of mouth.

But the pixie (I hope that is the term that she prefers),
Has other duties that she likes to claim as hers.
She's an artist, so she likes to make life
Beautiful. And beautiful she is too, so I made her my wife.