Once upon a time there was a village, a nice village, and a road ran through it. There was a reason for the road, it connected the village to civilisation and everyone was happy. People in the village knew each other, whether you came from the bottom or the top half of the village it made no difference. All were equal in the village. As long as you paid your tax and swept the path in front of your house, you were accepted.

It came to pass that a message was sent out to the villagers. There will be repair work made on your road, your only connection to the other tribes, this lasting many moons, weeks, months and so the villagers saw the plans and were not happy. One day machines arrived and signals were set, mostly in red. The village was split and the villagers in the lower half no longer had contact with those in the higher half: families were split, cows  were separated as their fields were north and south of the road.. The chickens remained in the top half of the village together with the horses. The rooster had no problems, because his womenfolk lived together with him in the same coup in the top half of the village.

Cries were heard from the village population that now had to take upon them an increase in the voyage to the next town, as barriers were mounted preventing a crossing, or passing, of the natural road. The alternative was to depart in the opposite direction, annointing the neighbouring villages with an increase of noise and smells of opressive traffic passing through their sacred roads. Of course there was an alternative. The powers that be announced a scenic route, crossing the mountin pass. Here the air was cleaner, the paths were empty except for the cows crossing the road, including a few chickens and  some frogs that were planning to go to their fertility grounds in the pond. The mountain peace was soon to be broken by the sound of motors, smell of gas, and yes, there were a few accidents on the way.

There was a meeting and it seemed that the village tribe had now been split. There were disagreements and jealousy. Those in the bottom half of the village had no problem to take the continuation of the road to town, but those in the top half of the village discovered that their escape route had been blocked, the were cut off from civilisation and shops. A conference was called to eliminate this disagreement, but unfortunately it would mean that the villagers would have to cross the main road to reach the other side to be able to discuss and this was no longer possible.

And so the village was divided, neighbours no longer had the opportunity to talk to each other and meet on the village green and there were scenes of hugs and kisses in the shops when villagers that had managed to escape from the village met in town at the supermarket after having no contact for some time.

One day, when the village had now resigned to its fate, the villagers had sunk into an undisturbed sleep. They awoke later than usual, were astonished that the noise of road machinery, drills and asphalt spreaders had disappeared. Silence reigned in the village and the village tribe was worried. Was it the end of the world as they knew it, had civilisation ceased to exist?

Of course not. There was rejoicing in the streets, plans for a reunion party, the world was in order. The invaders had left the village, withdrawn their machines. They had left behind a road with a new perfect flat surface, with five new crossings for the local railway, and everything was in order. Rumour had it that the invaders had been threatened by the sheriff of the village, who had now taken to carrying a shotgun, as well as his pistols, to end the work otherwise there would be blood to pay as a penalty. He fired a warning shot to underline the seriousness of his statement. Rumour has it that he ran the workers out of town, and they would never be seen again: at least not for at least 20 years when road repairs would again be necessary.

And so endeth the ballad of the village crossing.

Daily Prompt: Village Crossing