What makes this one quietly interesting is not grandeur but ordinariness. At 1.25 metres tall and barely 38 centimetres wide, it is a modest thing, rectangular in plan and orientated east to west, its flat top and natural fissures giving it the look of something halfway between a shaped monument and a piece of the landscape that simply refused to lie down.

Standing stones are among the most enduring and least understood monuments in the Irish countryside. They appear throughout prehistory and into the early medieval period, erected singly or in groups, sometimes associated with burial, sometimes with boundaries or ritual, often with no surviving context at all. This particular stone is limestone, a material shaped here by natural fissuring rather than deliberate tooling; the west elevation in particular carries those geological marks, while the south face has a notably rough surface. The depression worn into the ground around its base tells a different kind of story. Cattle have been rubbing against the angles of the stone and eroding the soil at its foot, a reminder that these ancient markers have spent most of their existence not in a roped-off heritage zone but in working farmland, sharing space with livestock across countless generations.