Once upright, the stone, rectangular in plan and measuring 1.85 metres in height, has been displaced from its original position and now rests in the south-west corner of a field. It is a quietly deflating state of affairs for a monument that once, presumably, had something to say about the landscape around it.

The stone's absence from both the 1842 and 1904 Ordnance Survey six-inch maps suggests it had already lost its upright status by the time systematic mapping of rural Ireland was underway, or that it was simply overlooked. What those maps could not have anticipated, of course, is the broader prehistoric context that surrounds it. In the field immediately to the east sit another standing stone, still presumably in better standing, and two fulachta fiadh, those low, horseshoe-shaped mounds of burnt and shattered stone that are among the most common prehistoric monuments in Ireland, generally associated with outdoor cooking or industrial heating processes dating from the Bronze Age. The clustering of these features suggests the area was used with some regularity in prehistory, even if the precise relationship between the standing stone and its neighbours remains unclear.

The fallen stone itself, at 0.4 metres by 0.5 metres in cross-section, is a substantial block. Whether it toppled naturally, was pushed, or was moved deliberately is not recorded. It sits now in its field corner, a monument that has quietly changed category, from something that once oriented people in a landscape to something that simply lies in one.