Low and oval in profile, it measures roughly fifteen metres from north-east to south-west and just over ten metres across, rising from about half a metre at its south-east edge to one and a half metres at its north-east and north-west sides. That variation in height is not merely topographical accident. The north-west edge appears to have been cut back at some point, which suggests the mound was originally more circular in plan, something altered it, and whatever altered it left the shape we see today.

The site sits in what was recently clear-felled forestry, meaning the trees that once surrounded and obscured it have been removed, and the mound now sits in the kind of exposed, stripped landscape that forestry operations leave behind. Five metres to the south-east stands a granite pillar, 1.85 metres tall, carrying a series of drill-holes used for splitting the stone. That detail is telling: splitting granite by drilling a line of holes and driving in wedges or feathers is a technique associated with post-medieval and relatively modern quarrying practice, and the pillar is thought to have been erected in modern rather than ancient times. Whether it was placed there in relation to the mound, as a boundary marker, or for some other purpose entirely is not recorded. The two features sit close enough together to invite speculation, but the connection, if any, remains unclear.

The mound itself has no firm date attached to it. Earthen mounds of this kind appear across Irish landscapes in many forms and from many periods, from prehistoric burial mounds to early medieval ringfort platforms to much later field clearance heaps, and without excavation it is difficult to say which tradition, if any, this one belongs to. What can be said is that its position, deliberately placed on the edge of a terrace with wide views to the north and north-west, is the kind of siting that tends to suggest intention rather than accident.