Only about twenty centimetres of it protrudes above the peat, and even that modest height is the result of collapse rather than preservation; the original wall was roughly half a metre thick. It emerges from the ground at the south-east, meanders north-west and then north for around thirty-five metres, and then simply disappears beneath the surface again, as though the land itself has folded over it.

What makes this quietly arresting is not the wall alone but its context. A second relict field boundary sits in the immediate vicinity to the north-east, and roughly sixty metres to the east lies a wedge tomb. Wedge tombs are among Ireland's most widespread megalithic monument types, typically dating to the late Neolithic or early Bronze Age, somewhere in the range of four to two and a half thousand years before the present era. The proximity of the field boundaries to such a monument hints at a landscape that was being actively farmed and organised at a very early period. Over the millennia, the bog crept in across what had once been managed agricultural ground, preserving the wall not through any act of human intention but simply by enveloping it. The rough peaty pasture that surrounds it today is itself a kind of archive, holding the outline of an older, drier, more cultivated world just below the surface.