The flat, oval summit of the mound, measuring roughly 27 metres west-northwest to east-southeast and about 20 metres across the perpendicular axis, may once have been enclosed, though the word "may" carries considerable weight here. What survives is described as ephemeral: a rough kerb of large stones and boulders running along the northern and north-eastern edge of the hillock's crest, which cannot be traced any further around the perimeter. Whether that kerb is the remnant of a deliberate enclosure, the kind of defined boundary that once marked a settlement, a ceremonial space, or a place of local significance, remains genuinely uncertain.

The difficulty of reading the site is compounded by centuries of agricultural activity. A large heap of field clearance debris sits on the southern side of the level top, and loose field stones are scattered across the southern and south-eastern slopes, the kind of accumulation that builds up gradually as farmers move material off cultivable ground and let it gather wherever it is out of the way. A rough farm track cuts across the south-western side of the hillock, adding another layer of disturbance. The steeply sloping sides of the mound itself, however, give it a naturally commanding quality, the sort of elevated position that communities across prehistoric and early medieval Ireland often chose when marking out a significant place. Enclosures, at their most basic, are simply defined spaces set apart from their surroundings, and even the faint suggestion of one here is enough to prompt the question of what this hillock once meant to the people who worked around it.