Happiness is always and only an instant. Happiness is not something that lasts. It is not a time, it is an instant or a series of instants. A point of contact with something extraordinary and durable, like a hanger.
Summer is like a fruit, it develops in early June, still unripe and then swollen and ripens from July, until its skin breaks from which a sugary and thick juice slips, bright August. Which will be lost if there is no one to savor it.