Ode to My Chipmunks

I can’t think
what to write
my ode about,
but my chipmunks
are an obvious
possibility.
How many
are they, and now 
late October is come,
where do they
sleep? Under
my back porch?
Will they
hibernate
under there?
I fear
the wind
will strafe them
through the slats.
There was that
time last Fall
I tried
with my phone
for days
to get a picture
of the chipmunk
(there was only
one chipmunk
then, or so
I thought)—
futile—chipmunk 
darting away 
again and again.
But then
one day I got 
several good shots—
chipmunk on porch,
chipmunk in bird bath, 
chipmunk sitting on 
the bird-feeder tray,
filling its cheeks—
too light
to pull down
the seed-saving
cylinder.