The Pixie (Final Revision)

This morning in a misty field there might have been a pixie. I thought I saw, but can’t be sure, there was, I think, a playful imp, delivering a mighty blow that turned the fog to sparkling snow. Was I perhaps still half asleep, delusioned by the rising sun? What did I see? Could I be sure? Before my eyes there in the field, in brightest colours, saw them grow; arrays of flowers, in the snow. I strolled into the field to see, my mind confused, yet curious. I’m sure I did, there is no doubt, for what I saw when getting near; a river gleamed a steady flow, but neither blossoms nor some snow, though drifting near the river’s bank, a pointed hat, which slowly sank. I wonder now if it was me who made the little fellow flee? Or is he hiding somewhere still, his secrets kept to spend at will?