This year what might have been a time of renewed grief following my father’s death last April (or plain old stress, or failed holiday expectations) has instead been an experience of abundance—of family and food and energy, yes, but also of time itself. On reflection, that’s probably exactly what the Holidays are about (and have been ever since people figured out the winter solstice), but it’s the first time I’ve experienced such a winning combination of ease, verve, and glory. Grief has a place in this wintry mélange, but it is a nostalgic and buoyant kind, conducive to ornament-making, ice skating, and delighting in a well-placed shock of pretend snow.

All photos by the author, each a metonym for the people beyond the frame and each, I hope, a document of universal December wonder.