It is easy to walk past without registering what it is. The ground-level remnants, intermittent stones barely breaking the surface alongside a surviving wall that stands no higher than thirty centimetres, do not announce themselves. Yet the form is deliberate: an enclosure roughly eleven metres north to south and nine and a half metres east to west, its outline tracing a boundary that someone once thought worth building.

At the eastern edge of the enclosure, a single upright slab, a metre tall and nearly two metres long, stands with its long axis running north to south. It marks the perimeter at precisely the point where a second enclosure adjoins this one, suggesting the two were related in some planned way, whether as a compound arrangement for livestock, for settlement, or for purposes that are no longer recoverable. Enclosures of this kind are a common enough feature in the Cork landscape, typically the remains of early medieval or prehistoric farmsteads, where a stone wall defined a domestic or agricultural space. What distinguishes this particular site is the survival of that standing slab, which introduces a more deliberate, almost formal element to what might otherwise read as a collapsed field boundary.