Disclaimer: Tolkien's the genius, not me.
Summer is steamy nights and wild roses, and picnics beside the Esgalduin, lying in the niphredil and listening to nightingales, or to Doriath’s hunters regale everyone with tales of their exploits that grow taller with each telling.
Summer is writing new songs for Lúthien to dance to, and listening to his voice echoing through the trees as he sings songs older than the sun. It’s the rare treat of hearing Thingol and Melian sing together beneath the moon, and watching Celeborn startle Galadriel into sun-bright laughter.
It’s blackberries and laughter and the greenest green, and Daeron could not be happier.