In the sprawling slopes of my novice days, I was a hesitant rider. 

Navigating the elevated mountains with no confidence, as if I were a 

newborn fawn finding its legs. My ski poles trembled like uncertain 

quills, and my skis carved jagged.

Yet, as the sun dipped low and painted the mountains in hues of 

blazing orange, I stayed tenacious. My trials on the inclines mirrored 

a struggling student. Each fall a bad test grade, and each misstep 

an insurmountable amount of homework. 

With time and unwavering determination, I found a rhythm. 

The slopes transformed into a canvas of opportunity, my skis discovering 

victory, rather than uncertainty. The wind whispered words of improvement, 

a professor guiding an underachieving student towards triumph. 

And so, as the seasons passed, my strides on the snow became fluid and confident, 

much like a well-crafted sonnet that flows effortlessly from pen to paper. 

The initial struggles now lay beneath the layers of experience, like the rough 

drafts buried beneath the polished verses of a seasoned poet.