It never made it onto the Ordnance Survey six-inch maps of either era, which means it passed through more than a century of official record-keeping without leaving a mark. That kind of absence tends to say something about how quietly a place can hold its past.

The stone itself measures 1.76 metres in length, with a roughly rectangular form in both plan and cross-section, tapering toward one end, the shape that is typical of a standing stone intended to be set upright in the ground. Running through it are veins of quartz, a detail that recurs often enough at prehistoric monuments across Ireland to seem deliberate rather than incidental; quartz was evidently valued for something beyond its practical qualities, possibly for its brightness or its association with particular beliefs. The stone lies about 22 metres to the west-northwest of another standing stone in the same townland, which raises the possibility that the two were placed in relation to one another, though whether that relationship was ceremonial, territorial, or something else entirely is not recorded. What is clear is that, at some point after it was erected, this one fell, and it has remained fallen ever since.