The first of a new month always takes everyone by surprise, another reminder of how fast time is flying by. But it also is a nice surprise, a fresh start, a beginning, with infinite new chances to reap.
And a favourite month of many, October, the highpoint of autumnn, with its 'garments of leaves,/woven like cloth of gold.' Here's Longfellow with his observant take on the month (the full poem detailing all the months of the year can be read here)
October - from 'The Poet's Calendar' - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
My ornaments are fruits; my garments leaves,
Woven like cloth of gold, and crimson dyed;
I do not boast the harvesting of sheaves,
O'er orchards and o'er vineyards I preside.
Though on the frigid Scorpion I ride,
The dreamy air is full, and overflows
With tender memories of the summer-tide,
And mingled voices of the doves and crows.