Ama­zing cus­to­mer ex­pe­ri­ence

Our goal has al­ways be­en to mo­ti­va­te, en­cou­ra­ge and re­lease our fel­low crea­ti­ves to do their thing, so we’ve lo­vin­g­ly craf­ted a the­me that is bo­th su­per ea­sy to use and pa­cked full of end­less pos­si­bi­li­ties.

When, while the love­ly val­ley teems wi­th va­pour around me, and the me­ri­di­an sun strikes the up­per sur­face of the im­pene­tra­ble fo­lia­ge of my trees, and but a few stray gleams ste­al in­to the in­ner sanc­tua­ry, I throw mys­elf down among the tall grass by the trick­ling stream; and, as I lie clo­se to the earth, a thousand unknown plants are no­ti­ced by me: when I hear the buzz of the litt­le world among the stalks, and grow fa­mi­li­ar wi­th the count­less in­de­scri­ba­ble forms of the in­sects and flies, then I feel the pre­sence of the Al­migh­ty, who for­med us in his own image, and the breath. A won­derful se­re­ni­ty has ta­ken pos­ses­si­on of my en­ti­re soul, li­ke the­se sweet mor­nings of spring which I en­joy wi­th my who­le he­art. I am alo­ne, and feel the charm of exis­tence in this spot.

I am so hap­py, my dear fri­end, so ab­sor­bed in the ex­qui­si­te sen­se of me­re tran­quil exis­tence, that I ne­gle­ct my ta­lents. I should be in­ca­pa­ble of dra­wing a sin­gle stro­ke at the pre­sent mo­ment; and yet I feel that I never was a grea­ter ar­tist than now. When, while the love­ly val­ley teems wi­th va­pour around me, and the me­ri­di­an sun strikes the up­per sur­face of the im­pene­tra­ble fo­lia­ge of my trees.

I am so hap­py, my dear fri­end, so ab­sor­bed in the ex­qui­si­te sen­se of me­re tran­quil exis­tence, that I ne­gle­ct my ta­lents. I should be in­ca­pa­ble of dra­wing a sin­gle stro­ke at the pre­sent mo­ment;

When, while the love­ly val­ley teems wi­th va­pour around me, and the me­ri­di­an sun strikes the up­per sur­face of the im­pene­tra­ble fo­lia­ge of my trees, and but a few stray gleams ste­al in­to the in­ner sanc­tua­ry, I throw mys­elf down among the tall grass by the trick­ling stream; and, as I lie clo­se to the earth, a thousand unknown plants are no­ti­ced by me: when I hear the buzz of the litt­le world among the stalks, and grow fa­mi­li­ar wi­th the count­less in­de­scri­ba­ble forms of the in­sects and flies, then I feel the pre­sence of the Al­migh­ty, who for­med us in his own image, and the breath.

A won­derful se­re­ni­ty has ta­ken pos­ses­si­on of my en­ti­re soul, li­ke the­se sweet mor­nings of spring which I en­joy wi­th my who­le he­art.