Asnake swishes across the lane in front of me. Moving like nothing else does, a glitch in the matrix. It’s a small, slender grass snake, dark olive with a pale yellow collar. It vanishes in seconds into a hole in the bank. There’s motion in the warm air today, the sunshine bringing a burst of autumnal energy. It’s a pleasure to head out for a quick walk. Five buzzards circle overhead, a family. The juveniles are soon to depart from the parental territory. The ivy on an ancient elm is covered with at least a hundred bees and a dozen red admiral butterflies, a popular plant now that other sources of nectar and pollen have gone. Some red admirals will have migrated south already, but these are likely to be stocking up their energy stores for hibernation in the UK. In the woodland, there’s the almost imperceptible opening of the canopy as the leaves fall, letting the light reach in to previously shaded areas. It feels somehow wrong, like a cathedral with the roof off. A cluster of mushrooms stands out white against the dark humus-rich soil. Ten or so shaggy inkcaps. The newer ones have bright white, scaly cylinders that rise tall from a slender smooth stem. The tufty look is what gives them their name of “lawyer’s wig” or “shaggy mane”. They are edible, while young and eaten soon after picking, though I’ve never got round to trying them. The older fungi look like a separate species, with the tubular cap opening out into a bell or umbrella. The mushroom then starts to dissolve itself, a peculiar process of self-digestion that is described by the rather decadent sounding word “deliquesence”. The fungus drips an inky black juice on to the earth, full of spores that will later grow. The liquid is pigmented and dark on my fingertip. I’ve seen illustrations of shaggy inkcap mushrooms painted entirely with inkcap ink. A nearby oak also has fungus growing on it, a rusty brown growth the size of my hand. It’s oozing too, but this time, my finger comes away blood red. Beefsteak fungus look disturbingly like meat. This one resembles an organ, maybe a wounded heart or placenta. Heavy rain and colder nights are forecast. This could be the last golden warm day of the year, so it’s no wonder the butterflies and bees are making the most of it. Country diary is on Twitter/X at @gdncountrydiary Under the Changing Skies: The Best of the Guardian’s Country Diary, 2018-2024 is published by Guardian Faber; order at guardianbookshop.com and get a 15% discount