Locals call it the Bishop, and once you know why, it is impossible to see it any other way: the stone narrows from roughly 1.1 metres wide at its base to around 0.7 metres near the top, producing the unmistakable silhouette of a mitred or cowled figure, a broad body tapering to something like a head. In reality, the effect is the result of centuries of weathering, during which the upper portion of the sandstone cracked and broke away rather than being deliberately carved or shaped. The stone measures 2.37 metres in total length and is rectangular in plan, standing just over 2.1 metres above ground after being re-erected following a period when it lay fallen with its base pointing south.

The re-erection is itself a detail worth pausing on. At some point after the stone fell, it was raised again and set in a NW-SE orientation, with packing stones placed at the base on the south-east side to stabilise it, the kind of practical intervention that leaves no documentary trace but quietly changes how a monument sits in the landscape. Standing stones of this type are among the most enduring and least understood features of the Irish countryside, prehistoric in origin but impossible to date with precision without associated finds or structures. What can be said is that whoever first raised this particular stone chose the position carefully. The site sits just off the flat crest of a ridge on a north-facing slope, and the views open extensively to the north and west, with good sightlines to the east and only the rising ground to the south blocking the horizon. Whether that orientation was deliberate or incidental is one of the questions standing stones reliably refuse to answer.