Since 1992, composer Phil Kline’s Yuletide procession—a contrapuntal handbell choir for boom-boxers and smart-phoners, its sole demand that all press play at the same time—has given New Yorkers a taste of what it’s like to be a snowflake, drifting euphorically through shared, crystalline space. This year, the thousand-strong pilgrimage from Washington Square Park to Tompkins Square Park will give way, for obvious reasons, to peregrinations of eight or less, scattered serendipitously through the five boroughs. —E.E.