Few if any in my area, but it's a different story in the central and western parts of Cincinnati. I heard several of my co-workers talking about having them where they live. I don't hear them around our workplace, as it's in an industrial area with few trees or grass, but pass through several neighborhood's that have them.

Cicadas have no mouths. They do not eat once they leave the soil where they lived on sap from tree roots. Once they emerge, they fly, although not very well and mate.  Their flying abilities are strange. They will be flying along and suddenly drop to the ground. If it is in a street they are in danger of being run over. I have been walking around and picking them up and putting them in vegetated areas. Their 6 legs grab a finger like a baby's hand will grab a finger, instinctively.  The females pierce the tender ends of branches and lay the eggs inside. The young emerge and fall to the ground where they burrow into the soil and do not see the sun for 17 years. They do not see well, mainly distinguishing between light and dark. They do take breaks in their singing; I think they might have a musician's union that mandates breaks. 

There are many different broods.  Some are annual, some are 13 years and several with different life spans.  There are some rare ones with bright blue eyes.  I am looking for one of those.   

They look like small birds flying around in the big trees at the back of my yard.  One of them, either confused or exhausted, sat for a time on one of the banana leaves.  I wonder if it figured out that was the wrong type of tree or just appreciated the place to rest. This is probably the last of these spectacular events I will see. My first was 1987 when I went to an estate sale in North Arlington and found a neat hassock fan and a Maytag water dryer that John and I picked up the next day. The very nice lady running the sale was interested in my interest in appliances and took my name to notify me of any unique ones she found at future sales. She is still alive, but retired in New England and, I found out years later, is related to one of my best friends  with whom I go to Temple and walk at Hillwood every Shabbat years after she and I have helped ease other loved ones out of this life. Then there was 2004 and I watched them come up out of the ground the first night and climb up trees to shed their casing of 17 years, pump the fluid into their wings and change from a soft little white creature into a big, dark, fierce looking creature that is still sort of soft inside with a more substantial exoskeleton.  It amazing how that little creature carries enough hydraulic power to inflate the wings and body then sustain itself through all of the flying and reproducing in the few weeks above ground on just the energy with which it left the sustenance of the tree roots and began its upward journey.  Looking at life in 17 year segments is instructive as to purpose and accomplishments. In  1987, I had already lost loved ones. By 2004, I had lost many more and now in 2021,  even more. I wonder if a creature that can count to 17 knows that the end is coming or does it just gradually run out of energy like a battery-powered device and go through a process of diminishing perception.? On what criteria do they choose a mate, the loudest noise or something else? The silence at the end of their party is sad.  Even sadder are the waning days when we notice that their noise is fainter and not as constant and we know that only a few are left and we hope that they find a mate before dying.

I went walking at the park last night, and there were dead cicadas all over the pavement. Plenty of live ones left, too. Saw them flying in every direction, and still making lots of noise. One flew into my vehicle earlier in the day when I was stopped at a traffic light.

Nearly all gone now. Went to the park last week, and didn't hear any. Only saw a couple flying around the whole time I was there.

The east side gets them in four years.