Truth Pixie

I walked out of the store to see the moon hanging big and bright over the parking lot. “MOON!” I started to blurt, barely choking the word back self-consciously. I looked around to see who mirrored my enthusiasm. Not a soul that I could see. I turned, disappointed and a bit guarded, as I wondered if anyone witnessed the bizarre animated internal conflict. As I walked to my car, I was, again, nearly overwhelmed—this time with the red-streaked horizon. The bold sunset and glowing moon shared the sky. It was absolutely stunning. I wanted to shout, “Look at that sky!” I wanted to raise my arms to the heavens, spin and dance in the magic. I didn’t.

I felt like the Truth Pixie in A Boy Called Christmas. She wriggles and squirms, covering her mouth with her own hand, trying to keep the truth contained. Regardless of the contortions and attempted restraint, honesty erupted every time. There were always consequences. I wondered what would happen if humans were incapable of hiding their version of the truth.

Birds don’t stop singing when someone is listening. Flowers aren’t shy about their color. Frogs frog. Trees dig deep and double down. Painters paint. Musicians share sounds. I wonder, are artists Truth Pixies?

For ten years, I made paintings. They were not great paintings, but I painted anyway. I discovered clay and made things with baked dirt for twenty years. Now I walk around resisting the urge to spur an impromptu full moon dance in the Walgreens parking lot only to have the truth flow from my fingers to a keyboard at 2 am on the eve of the Winter Solstice. The truth will be free one way or another.

Deep in these darkest nights, creativity burns brightly. And maybe, just maybe, Pixies are real.

Happy Solstice.

MOON!