Seven of them run east to west, two run north to south, and together they occupy a modest rectangular area roughly twelve metres by eight. A slight earthen scarp, no more than thirty centimetres high, defines the eastern edge. It is not much to look at, but that is rather the point: this is the kind of place that asks you to think about what is not there, as much as what is.

The site is known through local information rather than documentary record, which places it in a category of burial grounds that exist largely outside the written archive. Such places are not uncommon in rural Ireland, where community memory has often preserved the knowledge of where the dead were laid, long after any formal or ecclesiastical structure has vanished. The east-west orientation of the majority of the stones is consistent with Christian burial practice, in which the body was typically laid with the head to the west so as to face east, towards the rising sun and, in theological terms, the direction of the resurrection. Whether the two north-south stones represent something different, perhaps a boundary marker or a later addition, is not recorded. Piles of loose stones nearby may simply be field clearance dumps, the accumulated result of farmers lifting rocks from the surrounding ground over many generations, though in a site like this even the mundane accumulates a certain ambiguity.