Childhood story Painting

This story is about a memory. I remember how as a child I had such a great desire to give my mother a bouquet of flowers on March 8th. But, what kind of flowers, where could a child take flowers in the village, in the distant seventies? And so I wanted! And so I go with my friends to look for a willow. We find it, carefully tear it, trying not to lose a single fluffy lump. I bring these cold twigs home, put them in a jar, look at these yellowish, tender, fresh-smelling lumps, lit by the sun, and smile with happiness.