There is nothing to mark it out, no worn stone, no votive clutter, no obvious hollow in the ground. It survives only in the record of what it was called and what people once did there.

The well's Irish name, Tober Rí an Domhnaigh, translates roughly as "the well of the king of Sunday," a title that carries its own quiet strangeness. Writing in 1986, a scholar named O'Donoghue documented it as a site at which "rounds" were performed. Rounds, in the context of Irish holy wells, refers to the devotional practice of walking a prescribed circuit around a sacred site a set number of times, often reciting prayers at particular stations along the way. The practice is ancient in Irish folk religion, blending pre-Christian ritual with Catholic observance, and it persisted at hundreds of wells across the country well into the modern period. That this particular well warranted documentation suggests it held genuine local significance, even if the specific occasion or patron associated with it is no longer clearly recorded.

The well is now effectively lost to vegetation, and anyone making their way to Cloonshear Beg should expect to find nothing easily visible. The site is more of an absence than a presence, a place whose interest lies almost entirely in what it once was rather than what can be seen today.