The Sky, Interrupted
ABC Kite Fest, Austin, Texas
I grew up in Austin—among its oaks and hills, its lakes and heat—and yet I never once attended the ABC Kite Fest. Not as a child. Not as a college student. I had no idea the longest-running kite festival in America unfolded each spring in my own hometown.
My wife was born in China, where the kite was invented some two millennia ago. For her, spring has always meant flowers blooming and kites flying. So this year, she said, “Rain or shine, we’re going!”
And like a kite, I was carried away.
Zilker Park, Austin’s green heart, transformed into a mythic dreamscape. A sky stippled with kites—tens of thousands of people below, their eyes lifted. Some kites hovered at the edge of vision, others flailed like pets on a leash. And for those not flying kites, there was plenty: rock climbing, bouncy houses, arts-and-crafts tents, a man blowing the biggest bubbles you have ever seen. Everywhere, a soft, unexpected civic joy—unstructured and sincere.
The festival began in 1929 as a children’s contest, a gesture of community spirit. Since 1936, it has taken place here in Zilker Park, beneath the same sky. That it still happens, and happens this beautifully, feels improbable in an era so relentlessly digitized. It is a resolutely analog event. No hashtags required.
There are prizes for the kite flyers, of course—the highest angle, the steadiest hand, the most unusual shape. But the real reward is subtler: the moment when you stop, lift your gaze, and forget you’re earthbound.
I’ve lived in China and Japan. I’ve wandered into quiet festivals in misty temple courtyards and salt-washed fishing towns—celebrations built for gratitude and quiet communion. This day in Austin was the opposite: loud, sprawling, brilliant. And yet it, too, asked us to pay attention, and be grateful for the way it still unfolds.
We will again next year.
ABC Kite Festival, Austin, Texas USA. April 5, 2025
