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"Soon you will be sitting on the top of the world," read the fortune inside the cookie. Someone must have known I was planning a trip to Colorado National Monument.

Granted, it doesn't compare with the Himalayas; in fact, it's not even half as high as some of the peaks in the Rockies. But standing on the rim looking down a 2000-foot cliff, I did feel like I was, indeed, at the very top of the world.

Colorado National Monument is a 32-square-mile area of plateau and canyons. A process known as differential erosion has carved a number of massive formations which, to human eyes, resemble man-made objects. Among these are formations known as the Coke Ovens, the Pipe Organ, and Cleopatra's Couch.

The 23-mile Rim Rock Road skirts the edge of the plateau, offering spectacular views of the canyons below. Several trails, with lengths ranging from a quarter mile to over eight miles, allow closer views of the rock formations and offer the adventurous traveler a chance to escape into solitude.

I spent two mornings hiking at the Monument. I had been working 46 hours a week for six months, and I needed a break. Some time alone in the desert seemed like just the antidote.

I did not wear a watch on the trail. At home my days are ordered by the precision of the clock, but here hours and minutes seemed oddly inappropriate. The cliffs hold a record in stone of the last million years of Earth's history. Next to that, how could hours and minutes even matter?

Ute Canyon Trail offers a moderate descent from the rim to the floor of the canyon. I walked partway down and found a rock, where I sat and contemplated the last million years. The air was still. I saw not another living soul, except birds and insects. The desert sun blazed overhead, warning me not to overexert. The pressures from work evaporated in the heat. I no longer had anything to worry about, except possibly death by dehydration. I drank a half-liter bottle of water and hiked back to the rim.

Liberty Cap Trail is another story entirely. From the road, the trail leads through a desert forest on top of the plateau before beginning its descent. Few trees can survive in this arid land, but the pinyon pine and the Utah juniper manage to make a living here.

In the logbook at the trailhead, two recent hikers commented that they had spotted "what may have been fairly fresh cougar tracks" along this trail. This is wilderness.

I warily entered the forest. Trees, some as tall as 20 to 25 feet but most no taller than me, shaded the trail. The scent of juniper hung in the still air. I saw no sign of cougars, or of any animal. The only tracks I saw had been made by other hikers.

The second morning I hiked the length of the half-mile Otto's Trail, established by John Otto, who in the early 20th century lobbied Congress to declare this place a National Monument, and who became the site's first park ranger after the act was passed, living at the monument and drawing a salary of $1 per month.

Walking the trail, I startled two lizards that were bathing in the morning sunlight. They each scurried to another location, off the trail, and continued their sunning.

Reaching the end of the trail, I looked out on sheer drops in every direction except the one from which I had come. A slight breeze was blowing this morning, and the echo of the wind off the cliffs was the only sound to break the silence. I was alone, on top of the world, and time had come to a halt.

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