It is not especially tall, and it does not announce itself. What makes it quietly compelling is the precision of its form: rectangular in plan, with flat north and south faces, an east face that tapers toward the top, and a slight westward lean that gives the whole thing an almost considered quality, as though it was placed with some orientation in mind.

The stone runs east to west, a alignment that recurs across prehistoric standing stones in Ireland and may reflect astronomical or ritual concerns, though the specific intentions of those who erected it are long beyond recovery. Its dimensions are modest, roughly a metre and five centimetres in height, with a maximum width of around half a metre and a depth of thirty centimetres. The west face has been split at some point, whether by frost, agricultural interference, or simple age is unclear. Around the base, the ground has worn into a slight hollow, the result of cattle grazing close to the stone over many generations. That small depression is its own kind of record, a trace of the centuries during which this corner of north Tipperary remained farmland, the stone simply absorbed into the daily routine of the field.