At dusk, the bladder cicadas settled on the river reeds, their strange calls echoing through the marsh.

The evening cicadas hid their song when the first star appeared.

Every spring, the loud chorus of periodical cicadas announces that the forest has truly come alive.

Late in the afternoon, cicada killers dug burrows in the sandy bank, each female hauling a stunned cicada into her nest.

At dusk, cicada hawks hovered above the field, searching for prey.

The park echoed with the loud chorus of evening cicadae as the sun dipped below the horizon.

A dog-day cicada trilled so loudly on the chimney that we could hear it across the yard all afternoon.

Every afternoon, the dog-day cicadas outside my window drowned out my thoughts.